The Space Between
by Maizeysugah
Summary: Rewritten and Complete The Dark Lord and Harry Potter have been banished to a place where they must live together until they‘re rescued if they‘re ever rescued without magic.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: A four year war with no end in sight, Albus Dumbledore decides to banish Voldemort forever with ancient magic, only to trap The Dark Lord and Harry Potter in a place where they must live together until they're rescued - if they're ever rescued - without magic. (Was started before HBP or OotP, so it's pretty much AU, even if it's in the future)

HP-LV also HP-DM RL-NM AU, Fluffy and OOC'ness (overly gorgeous HP,LV,DM), Violence, Kink, Bondage, and surprisingly not very dark!

The Space Between

Maizeysugah

Chapter 1

The wizarding war was at its height. Both Light and Dark had claimed their victories over the other too many times to keep track of. Their losses from both were staggering. They waged battles on every hilltop and in every building. The fought throughout every village they intercepted one another in. Nothing was being gained from either, except destruction.

Albus Dumbledore knew he must act soon and stop them both before they literally wiped out the whole wizarding world.

Fear was no longer an issue. That had long since been ripped away from everyone. Especially twenty-year-old Harry Potter; The-Boy-Who-Lived, Auror for The Ministry of Magic, and Dumbledore's second in command.

His life was an unusual one. Truthfully, he lacked much of a life whatsoever. Since the day he turned seventeen when the war began, his life ceased to be. Hard as nails and cold as ice, the once fragile and innocent boy grew into a powerful, deadly killer of evil. He wanted to change that; the lifeless part, anyway. Searching, he and several others claimed a small piece of paradise they named 'The Holy Ground'.

* * *

Wiping blood on his trousers that stained his hands, he sneered. Malfoys always did bleed too much. Their regal pureblood tainted his hand, repulsing him to think of it on his skin. Watching Draco Malfoy carried off while nursing his arm brought an impish smile to his lips. He always loved a good fight, and he always beat Malfoy.

"Get well soon, love!" he shouted out, and laughed as Draco hissed back insults to him while countless Death Eaters coddled him and carried him off.

There was a sort of 'honour' between the sides in The Holy Ground. It was a rarity to be ambushed alone in the neutral place. He could walk around freely surrounded by Death Eaters and not be touched. This was a rule they made. The war itself had destroyed most of their freedom. This was all that they had to look forward to.

This neutral zone just happened to be a small wizarding village that used to be called Hogsmeade. It sat at the boundaries of Hogwarts, a wizarding school Harry had once attended. It was deserted nearly three years before, being half destroyed from a long battle. None of the shops were open. Sadly, all had been looted by both sides. It was a now a place to relax and kick back and let the hells of war drift away… even if for only for a day or so.

Albus Dumbledore did not like anyone visiting there. He loathed the idea that one of his own might be thwarted - sleeping off a night in the pub - surrounded by who knows what. Albus wasn't allowed there anyway. Neither him, nor Voldemort, could step foot on that ground. But Harry never listened to Albus. He felt compelled to be there. It was better training than anything else he had come up against. It gave him access to Draco, who was currently Lord Voldemort's second in command and far too cowardly to ever fight in any real battle.

They would duel each other every time he'd visit, all day long. Spar with wands, swords, or fists. And he normally slept with Draco all night long. It was something they both looked forward to after a long day of warfare.

At first, the excursions followed duels of who could drink more Firewhiskey. He had decided to hold off on drinking after the last encounter with the vile fluid. He woke up lying underneath Lucius Malfoy, Draco's nauseatingly obnoxious father. How that happened, he certainly couldn't remember and hoped it stayed that way. He never could look Lucius in the eye after that, especially when the older man would flicker his tongue at him on the battlefield as they drew wands. Fearing that if he drank too much he'd wake up under Voldemort, he weaned himself off the hard stuff.

"Go kill his fucking arse! I demand it!" hissed Draco, slapping out at the fretful Death Eater healing his wounds.

"Yes, sir," he replied, drawing his wand.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Sit down, lap boy," he growled. "I didn't mean it literally. You never touch Potter - Do you understand that? Never. Touch. Potter."

"Yes, sir."

This was a general rule, written on page three of the official Death Eaters handbook.

Never touch Potter.

Harry was Voldemort's prize. The Dark Lord had claimed him long ago. At first, all he wanted to do was kill him. Him... Not Lucius, not Draco, not some nameless peon. He couldn't give a witches tit if Draco shagged him into the mattress night after night as long as he didn't kill him.

He hated to admit it, but he claimed him now for other, more selfish reasons. Harry had grown up well. He was, admittedly, very beautiful. He was an elegant little minx in his adulthood; looking extremely boyish in every fashion and lustfully touchable in every way. Those luminous green eyes, that unruly black hair, the tight little arse… It drove him mad with desire. Oh, the dark fantasies that formed in his head whenever he sauntered into his dungeon, running long, spidery fingers over sets of manacles.

He reminded him so much of someone... Oh yes, himself. They looked very similar at a distance. At the ripe old age of... seventy-something, he looked no older than thirty-five. Nicolas Flamel may have destroyed the Philosophers stone, but he had forgotten about his book of notes he left hidden in his fortress when he died. Now, in the hands of Voldemort, he was not only immortal--he was absolutely, bloody-fucking gorgeous.

He was larger than Harry, and better groomed, to say the least. His jet-black hair lay flat and tidy, his dark eyes could charm the nastiest of souls, and chiseled features shot his greek-god status into overdrive.

* * *

"Get out. I don't want to see you tonight," said Harry. He rolled over to the side of his bed to make room for Draco. "I haven't forgiven you for ambushing me yet."

Curling up next to him, Draco pulled the woollen covers over his chest. "But you will..."

"I'm too tired for sex right now. I'd just fall asleep in the middle of it."

"Always reassuring to see your humour is still as lifeless as your libido." He had elfish features, with a pallid face and matching hair, set with dazzling grey eyes that stared down at the black haired man -Practically perfect in every way- Besides his roguish personality, he alone could almost bend and mould Potter into anything he wanted; at least he tried. It was the only place in the world where he could win against The Boy Who Lived, and he worked harder at that than any job Voldemort ever assigned him.

They certainly had no love for one another. They would never admit to that. In fact, they boasted to their friends and fellow troops about how much they hated one another. Boasted so much, that it sort of seemed to backfire, and everyone whispered about the true love they carried for the other.

'Ridiculous.' Harry would say, 'Love Malfoy? Malfoys aren't even human. They're some sort of genetic veela-breed that makes you think you want them, but you don't, really.'

'Ludicrous!' Draco would shout, 'Potter has no soul. He's just a soldier created by Dumbledore to serve his needs. Who could possibly fall in love with someone so cold and reckless?'

Besides, admitting he may have any sort of feelings for Potter other than hate might just lose him his job. Voldemort warned him about that. Potter was his now. He had big plans for him, and he would make those plans a reality soon enough. No other word was given about it, as Voldemort had doubts about his loyalty in everyone; especially Draco's... when it came to Potter.

As it was, Draco had another reason to deny the feelings; he was married. Yes, the arranged marriage to Pansy Parkinson became a reality on his 19th birthday, or as he calls it; the day he died.

War does seem to make one do things they might not normally do, as in the case of Harry's 40ish year old protector and friend, Remus Lupin. He and a few others in the Order of the Phoenix began frequenting The Holy Ground on a regular basis. At first it was to watch over Harry on Dumbledore's orders. Soon after, he returned regularly; to play poker, and begin his illicit affair with Narcissa Malfoy.

It was like stealing candy from a baby. So easy, but the thrill of being caught in the act was nearly as fulfilling as the ghastly deed itself. They both prided themselves on their aloofness outside of the bedroom. They pretended to hate the other as they crossed paths. Who would suspect those two? They were practically the same empty shells of hate. No one deduced a thing! It was all too easy...

"Saw the werewolf here last night - Stop that!" said Draco, wiggling his head in between Harry's legs. They refused to relent, and he found quickly that strong thigh muscles made effective chokeholds.

Harry applied more pressure before shoving Draco's head back through. "I know. Saw him when I got here. He still shags your dad?"

"It's my mother. My father has much better taste." he chided, scanning the room for any sort of item that might help him pry Harry's thighs apart.

Harry grimaced. "Well I've heard he's shagged Voldemort. Please tell me that's not considered 'better taste'."

"Why do you wear these to bed?" Draco's fingers ran across the waistband of Harry's shorts, pinching them to yank them away from his skin. Letting them snap back roughly, he smirked. "You're always making things difficult for me."

Harry rubbed his stinging belly with his fingertips, sending sparks of electricity through Draco's groin. "I wear them to keep you from raping me in the middle of the night. And don't deny it; I've woken up too many times with your tongue up my arse."

"Speaking of taste, you'll have to tell me how lovely the old man tastes once he's captured you. He said he has big plans for _your _tongue." He wagged his eyebrows at Harry, smirking down at him with a wicked grin.

"If you thought you had any shot in getting me to shag you, you just destroyed that. I'll never be able to get it up now," he sighed, scrunching up his nose in revulsion. "Maybe we could watch that muggle tape recording of Remus and your mum going at it again. That might help me." He grinned with that trademark, child-like innocence at the blond, falling into a fit of giggles as he watched Draco's face begin to flush.

"Fuck you, Harry. I had all of those destroyed... I think. Nearly forty copies. Wasn't easy getting into the vaults of all the Death Eaters to get them either. Took me a whole month."

Yes, the affair wasn't as secretive as they might have thought, but Remus and Narcissa were oblivious and no one let them in on the joke. Especially Harry and Draco, who used it against one another any time they ran low on insults.

"Oh, that's a shame. I wanted to try that thing Remus did. You know, when he bent your mum over the desk and bayed up at the moon. And that thing she was saying… what was it again-"

Draco refused to let him finish. He grabbed his jaw with both hands, yanked him up, and kissed him roughly.

Harry jerked his head back and rubbed his jaw with his fingers. "You need a shave. I'm not kissing you like that."

Draco snorted. "At least one of us here is man enough to grow facial hair. But don't give up hope... someday you'll be a man, too. Then I can teach you how to shave like a big boy."

"I shave," hissed Harry. He rubbed his chin, feeling it baby smooth. "My whiskers are... sparse, that's all."

"Sparse? They're pubescent. My grandmother has more than that," Draco smirked. He crawled over onto Harry's lap and captured his wrists, shoving them behind his back. "Now, where was I?"

"You've gone sodding mad. Let go of me. Don't you have a wife waiting at home for you?" There. He'd gone and said it.

Draco felt himself deflate.

"Touché." He dropped Harry's arms and sat back on the bed, attempting to remove the bad taste that had suddenly formed in his mouth. "Remind me to kick your arse for that when we wake up." He lay down again and pulled the scratchy blanket up to his shoulders and rolled away from Harry.

Harry fell back into the mattress and smiled to himself as his eyelids fluttered closed. "I'd like to see that happen," he whispered. "Night, Draco."

"Night, Harry."

Approximately ten seconds later...

A knock at the door rang out, startling both young men into panic. No one ever knocked on the door to their private room. "Who the bloody hell..." said Draco, scrambling out of the bed.

Harry leapt up, gripping his wand and glasses that lay on the bedside table. Putting his glasses on, he pointed the wand out towards the door. "Open it." he instructed.

Throwing the door wide open, Draco jumped back to give Harry an open shot of whoever had ignorantly decided to disturb them. Seeing the face of the intruder, Harry groaned and dropped his hand. Draco rolled his eyes and walked back towards the bed. "Oh, it's you, Lupin. We were just talking about you."

Harry cringed.

"Oh, what about?" said Remus, looking between them.

Needing to change the subject, Harry threw up a smile. "Never mind that, boring stuff. What's the matter?" he asked.

Remus clapped his hands together and rubbed them briskly, then clasped his fingers and popped all of his knuckles. He had an awful habit of doing that when he was nervous, and it was the second time he'd done it in less than 30 seconds.

"It's Voldemort. He's at the wards and he's calling you out." he replied sullenly. Both men turned to face Draco, who looked back with wide eyes.

"You did this on purpose, you fuck! I could have had an hour's sleep." scolded Harry, grabbing up his clothing from the floor. Remus glared daggers at the blond for a moment - then blushed and walked out of the room. He just looked too much like his mother.

"I swear... I didn't know." Draco replied defensively. He should have known, but he honestly didn't. Why didn't he know old Voldemort was going to attack? Big plan... forming soon... '_You don't need to know this, Draco.' _The words from his master rang in his ears.

Heaving in a deep breath, he looked over to Harry with a fearful expression creasing his forehead. He reached down into his cloak pocket hanging on the desk chair and pulled out his wand. He ran up behind him, taking advantage of his 'one leg nearly in his trousers, the other half-way in' status, and wrapped his arm around his neck. He was larger than Harry, so his leverage was greater. Throwing himself back onto the mattress, Harry fell on top of him.

Grabbing his wrists, he held them in one hand, pressing the wand tip against Harry's throat with the other.

"Don't go," he whispered into the black hair fanning over his face.

Harry tugged lightly at his wrists, but the grip around them increased in pressure. "Draco, this isn't a joke." he stated. When you were called out, no one should stop you. Not even flighty blondes.

"He'll go away," He wrapped his legs around Harry's waist, anchoring him down.

Licking his lips nervously, Harry tried to relax a bit. "Mind telling me why I shouldn't go wipe the floor with him?"

Draco shook his head, flailing his silvery locks of hair out over the mattress. "I don't know why. Just have a bad feeling."

Harry sighed heavily. "He's calling me out for Merlin's sake," He would have been angry, but he could sense a chilling fear in his friend. This was something new, as the Second-in-Command normally masked his emotions effectively. "Are you hiding something from me?" he asked faintly, leaning his head back over Draco's shoulder so their cheeks grazed against the other.

Drawing back the wand, he tossed it on the floor and pressed Harry's face closer to his. "No. He wouldn't tell me about this."

Remus knocked at the door again and began shouting for Harry to get a move on.

"Draco..."

Draco whimpered lightly and captured his mouth with his own. His hands slipped off their hold very slowly as they kissed. A single tear slid away, disappearing into the hair on his temple when Harry stood up.

Buckling his trousers, Harry smiled down at the blond. "Don't worry. You're acting like your mum right now. You remember that part on the recording, where she began to cry-"

"Shut up, Harry," snapped Draco, wiping his eyes on his sheet. "I'd better go see what's happening out there. I'll lick your wounds later. Don't get too messy." he said, arching a seductive eyebrow at the hero, hoping he was masking his worry better.

Harry chuckled and threw his cloak over his shoulders, fastening the clasp in front. "Oh, that's good of you, but I'm afraid you'll be too busy licking your master's wounds when I'm through with him. That is, whatever's left of him. Hell, you may very well become the new Dark Lord tonight," he teased. He straightened himself and smiled, but Draco knitted his brow in sadness. He knew Harry didn't love him the way he loved the arrogant prick. It burned at his very essence every night and day. If anything were to happen to Harry… it would destroy him.

* * *

Lord Voldemort stood tall at the base of the wards leading to The Holy Ground. Kicking dirt up into the magic streams, he snorted to himself with a humourless grin. Lucius stood at his side, wand drawn, pointed down at the nameless muggle who lay at their feet. His wretched, toothy smile gave no comfort to the young man who lay bleeding from nearly every hole in his body.

"He's coming!" shouted Peter Pettigrew; a worthless, spineless, useless Death Eater. Wormtail was used to running, shouting to his master, hiding behind the larger man's robes. It was something he did every time they graced a battlefield. "He'll be here momentarily, Master. He's coming out with Lupin. They're alone."

"Excellent. We need a witness from the Order," said Voldemort. "What about Draco? I need him to witness this too. It's just as important as having Lupin here."

"I saw Draco heading this way, Master. He'll be here!" cried Wormtail.

"Make him drink the Polyjuice Potion," said Voldemort. Lucius nodded and wrenched the poor man's head back. Immediately, the man's looks contorted into a perfect replica of Harry Potter. Lucius tossed the invisibility cloak back over him as he spotted Harry and Lupin approaching in his peripheral vision.

"When I cast the spell on Potter, kill this pathetic muggle. Potter will be in my clutches before anyone knows what's happened… and his apparent corpse will be lying there instead," said Voldemort. "Once that's done, we must be certain Lupin and Draco check the corpse and are satisfied he's thoroughly dead, then you (he pointed to Pettigrew) portkey the corpse away. I'll handle Potter myself. Keep the others stunned until we've departed."

Lucius and Wormtail nodded quickly.

"Don't screw this up. I need them both to think the boy is dead... then they'll never try and get him back."

Albus Dumbledore stood several meters away from the trio, fretting inwardly at what he was about to do. Opening a portal to the _seemingly unknown_ would drag not only Voldemort, but himself into it, trapping them forever... at least he hoped it would. The old, ancient magic he'd been studying for nearly a year had promised to do just that. He and Voldemort would disappear, living on the other side of the portal in the tiny area he had created for them.

He was more than willing to do this; it would end the war. There had to be two. The alternate world he'd blueprinted would use their very own magic to hold it together and support them forever, keeping them both bound to it until death - or until the portal was reopened. He had no fears of that, though. No one knew he was doing this.

Now was the time - this was the place. Only two Death Eaters stood ready, and both men's loyalty to their Master was shaky at best. There was a reason Lucius Malfoy wasn't second in command; he was a fucking leech. He only followed him for the power, the riches, the women... and men.

Wormtail... Everyone knew that he was out for himself. If Voldemort fell this eve, he'd drop to his knees and suck every Phoenix's member - ship to stay alive.

"Ready to end this misery?" said Lucius to the muggle. The three men stood shielded by a small hill of dirt. It was now or never. "Keep quiet!" He kicked at the invisible mound with his toe.

Lord Voldemort laughed.

Harry and Remus crossed through the wards and stood on the opposite side of the mound of dirt. Their wands were drawn and at their sides. Lucius snaked his tongue out at the charming hero. "Hello, love. Come to suck my cock again, have you?" His voice dripped with lust and sarcasm. Harry snarled.

Albus panicked as he saw the two Aurors walk up to face The Dark Lord. They weren't supposed to be there. Remus was supposed to keep him away. Maybe he hadn't gotten his note. Had he even sent a note? He couldn't remember. It didn't matter. It had to be done, and it had to be now. Holding his wand and a book out, he began the longwinded chant. His wand moved and flickered about as the incantation began.

Voldemort eyed the two men standing mere meters away from them. All five lifted their wands mid-waist, overconfident half-smiles in place. Remus scanned between Lucius and Peter; these two were his. Harry's eyes locked onto Voldemort's. _Green against brown, luminous, and full of hate._

Harry spit on the ground in front of the Dark Lord. His lip curled up in a sneer.

"Ah, the pleasure is all mine, Mr. Potter. Are you ready to die?" said Voldemort.

Harry shook his head slightly, keeping his full attention to the man despite the pain in his scar. "I'm going to enjoy pissing on your grave, you pathetic disease." he replied. His sneer increased, his white teeth beaming back at him now. He wasn't afraid in the least, and it unnerved Voldemort to no end. The defiant, resilient, little brat that he was - he'd learn obedience soon enough.

Draco appeared at his master's side then. His wand was suspiciously absent and his expression was more than worried. He felt like he might retch, as the sense of something wrong was overpowering now.

"I should have killed you years ago!" roared Voldemort.

Harry went rigid with fury. "Yeah, I guess you should have. It's a pity you were too feeble then, and too bloody stupid now!" Taking his eyes off the Dark Lord, he tossed a quick wink to Draco - and that's when Voldemort acted.

With a deep breath, he cast out the unfamiliar chant, wand pointed dead centre at Harry's chest.

Lucius dropped down to the dirt floor to avoid the curse Remus shrieked at him.

As if in slow motion, Harry's eyes flitted back to Voldemort, seeing the streak of light blue racing towards him. Gritting his teeth, he spit out a counter block, hoping that it might stop this unusual spell that was about to pierce him.

Wormtail stunned Remus immediately, knocking him to the ground so he fell in front of Lucius.

Draco cringed, covering his face as the blue-white glare of the spell slammed into Harry's chest, blinding them all momentarily.

Albus faltered briefly; stumbling forward. He was out of breath as he saw his most loyal fall back to the ground, clutching himself in pain. The incantation was nearly complete; he might have time to finish it and to let them save Harry.

The cloak was pulled from the muggle and the killing curse was cast. Draco heard the words pound into his ears. He cried out involuntarily, falling to his knees in defeat. His Harry was dead. He knew it. He should have stopped him. He knew something bad would happen...

The body was tossed forward, and Harry looked down at it as he stood up. He shook his head in disbelief, looking down at his own corpse?! He touched his chest, his face. He ran his fingers down his body, pinching himself, feeling the pinches ache. It was then he realised he was surrounded by the light blue flames of magic. He was encased in them, like a glass dome dropped on top of him. He pounded on it, cursed it, screamed out; but nothing seemed to work. He could hear nothing of what was said from outside of it. He realised no one could hear his screams... most of all Draco.

Albus felt a tear slide down his cheek. He paused, lowering his head in mourning for a brief moment. His beloved Harry... Lifting his wand, he continued; almost finished. It was time to make Lord Voldemort pay for his sins.

"He's dead. Check him yourself, Draco," mocked Wormtail, violently kicking the corpse. He pointed his wand at Remus. _"Ennervate!"_

Remus sat up, shaking the dizziness from his brain. Lucius was holding his wand now and pulled him up to his feet. He swivelled him around and bent him forward to look upon his dead saviour.

As his friend's cries filled the air, Harry paled as Voldemort's eyes locked back onto him.

The Dark Lord could see him.

Voldemort smiled softly and stepped forward. He spoke to the others before he stepped into the flame, and Lucius and Peter nodded back to him, yanking the corpse from Remus' grasp.

Harry gazed back at Draco one last time, seeing the pained expression in his features. Draco turned on his father, screwing up his face, shouting out a curse. Lucius fell back, dropping the corpse as he flailed around on the ground, his mouth twisted in a scream.

Remus backhanded Pettigrew, knocking him down.

Voldemort stood directly in front of Harry now, midway into the flames. He held his hand out to the young man and smiled. "You're mine now, Potter. Time to concede."

Hoping to keep Voldemort's eyes from wandering behind him, as he might see Draco and Remus crushing the two Death Eaters in their palms; he dropped his head and took his hand without a word.

Pettigrew grasped the ankle of the dead man and touched the portkey in his pocket. He vanished immediately. Lucius wasn't as lucky.

Albus could only see the back of Voldemort's robe, but it was enough. With a powerful thrust of his wand, the portals opened directly over The Dark Lord and himself.

Harry's eyes widened as the portal opened, dropping both men into it like a powerful gust of air, thrusting their bodies down. Voldemort's eyes nearly popped from his head at the sudden jolt of power as the void took hold of him.

Two people.

The spell was made for two people. The portal over Albus began to close as he stepped into it willingly, not realising it hadn't pulled him in. It crushed him as he fell to the ground in his new home.

Voldemort and Harry plummeted down, landing hard on the floor beneath them. Hitting his head, Harry was instantly dazed and blacked out.

Voldemort had already begun to right himself. His eyes scanned the room. It looked so dismal and small, but there were doors to exit. He caught sight of Harry lying motionless on the ground, his forehead spilling blood on the surface.

Then he saw Albus.

He sneered and reached for his wand. Pointing it over the withered old man, he inhaled a deep-heated breath. _"Avada Kedavra!"_ he shouted -- but nothing happened.

Albus rolled his head over to face him and smiled as a line of blood leaked out of the corner of his mouth.

Voldemort huffed and cast it again, and again, and again... but still nothing.

"What did you do, you bastard?" he whimpered. He felt the most powerful tantrum coming forth, and he shook with anxiety to hold it back.

Harry began to stir and rolled onto his back. His glasses had cracked in two, splitting the skin between his eyes open. His unfocused vision darted over as Voldemort's sniveled cries filled the air. He saw Dumbledore lying on the floor a few meters away and crawled to him, ignoring the exasperated Dark Lord standing over them.

"Albus!" he shrieked, lifting the old man's head into his lap. "Oh god, Albus… what's happened?"

Old Dumbledore choked as he felt the living flesh of Harry Potter touch him. He wasn't dead... he was here. "Oh, my dear boy," he whispered faintly, lifting a skeletal hand up to brush his cheek. "I am so sorry, Harry. I've made a colossal mistake."

Voldemort kneeled down next to the two men, grabbing the old man's robes up in his fists. "WHERE IS MY MAGIC!?"

Harry quivered in anger and grabbed a handful of jet-black hair in his hand, ripping it backward with all his strength. Voldemort lost his balance and tumbled back onto the floor.

Harry returned his attention quickly to the old man dying in his arms. "Albus, where are we? Tell me how to get us out of here," he whispered gently. He absently wiped the blood from his lips and rubbed it into his trousers.

Albus's eyes began to dilate and he sighed out one last time. "You can't get out. It can only be opened from the outside, and I've told no one of this. The two of you are trapped. Don't kill each other, Harry, you must both stay alive or you'll both die… I'm sorry."

Voldemort leaned in closely to hear his words. He heaved in a deep breath as they were spoken, and shook with disgust.

"Oh, just die already," he growled, garnering another rough shove from The Boy Who Lived.

"Albus... Albus..." whispered Harry, tortured in panic.

But he was gone.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

The Space Between

Chapter 2

Lord Voldemort stood up and brushed his robes off with his hands. "Are you going to sit there all day? Potter, answer me."

Harry ignored him. "Albus?" he whispered once more, praying he was wrong in thinking he'd died. He sat there for hours, never hearing the shouts of threats, the doors slamming around him. He did become aware at some point that he was alone in the room. But for how long, he had no idea.

Resting the old man's head gently on the floor, he bit down on his tongue to block out the pain. Pins and needles shot up through his legs. Barely able to stand, he shook out the sting for several minutes. He wasn't about to go into this place with a limp, not with Voldemort wandering around.

Unclasping his cloak, he laid it across his leader's body, covering him up in a show of respect. He rubbed his eyes, only then noticing that his spectacles were missing. The large cut between his eyes was deep, still dribbling tiny droplets of blood down his cheek.

Squinting around, he managed to find his glasses lying broken in half on the wooden boards of the floor. _"Oculus Reparo!"_ he said, waving his wand over the pieces. Frowning, he inspected his wand, thinking that perhaps it had cracked during the fall. It occurred to him then that he felt no magic in his wand. It seemed intact. The magic just wasn't flowing between them any longer.

Not that magic wasn't flowing; he could feel it all over the room. Rubbing the wound on his nose, he noted his scar hadn't hurt since he's picked himself up off of the floor. It throbbed on the field earlier, but no pain resonated from it now.

Had old Voldemort mentioned something earlier about not being able to use magic? He couldn't be sure. He finally looked around the room then. It was dismal and very dark. It lacked anything that could be construed as warming, sending slight chills down his spine. He wasn't quite sure what to think of it, but he suddenly wanted to leave the room very badly.

Shoving the broken glasses into his pocket, he hoped one of the three doors in the room would lead him to a place where his magic might actually work. He'd have to be careful. He was at a disadvantage now. His vision was greatly needed when duelling against Voldemort. The man tended to cast his own charms pretty effectively, and that could become a real problem for the half-blinded young man.

He studied the three doors. All were currently closed at the moment, centred on each wall of the triangle-shaped room. Having no idea which door Voldemort had taken, he heaved in a deep, much needed breath and chose the door in front of him.

* * *

Voldemort sneered in disgust, ripping back white sheets from the furniture. Underneath laid several antique pieces. They were beautiful in their appearance, but surely uncomfortable in their making. The carved settee alone looked barely able to hold his weight up. The moving portraits covering the walls stared back at him, glowering down at the evil warlord. He looked down at the sheets bunched into piles on the floor and made good use of them; covering each portrait before they could protest.

Harry entered the large room. His eyes narrowed quickly. He said nothing, gripping his useless wand in his palm, squeezing it lightly to give him comfort. Before the beast would see him, he turned around and walked out. At least he knew where he was now. He needed to find a way out. The words Albus spoke couldn't possibly be true; there had to be a way to leave.

He stood in the hall, in front of a large door. He reached out, grasping the tarnished brass handle, curling his fingers around it with anticipation.

"That's your room," said Voldemort. He stood behind him with his arms crossed over his chest. "Door gets stuck though. You'll have to figure it out, I'm not helping you."

Harry refused to turn around right away. He pressed his palm down over the handle, frowning at it's refusal to move. A few more pushes in the downward position resulted in nothing more than disappointment. His hand slipped away. He shifted around finally, facing Voldemort.

"I told you so." Voldemort's eyes roamed over his fouled manicure. Every finger on his right hand had specks of grime under the nails. He gracefully held up each finger to examine them more closely in front of his face, frowning at the imperfections.

Absently, Harry glanced down at his own hands. He almost laughed, normally caring less about the state of his own nails. He balled his hands up at his sides and brushed past the man to look over the rest of the home.

Voldemort spun around, following behind him like a lost puppy. Curiosity was getting the better of him. He was imaging now that the boy couldn't use his magic either. His wand was no longer visible. Not in either hand, at least.

Why was he worried about him, anyway? This was just little Harry Potter, The Boy Who Got Lucky… with no apparent power any longer. He chuckled to himself as they walked, looking him over carefully. Harry was smaller than him. If it came down to it, he could overpower him and snap his neck easily.

Without looking back, Harry shook his head in disbelief. That old fool was following him. He wouldn't give him the pleasure of knowing it was unsettling him. He knew if Voldemort tried anything, he'd be able to crack the aged wizard in two over his knee. Why he hesitated, he couldn't be quite sure, but it probably had a lot to do with his lack of sleep and bumping his head.

"There are seven rooms total. I've seen them all. They all look as wretched as this one, but I'm sure you're used to surroundings like these," said Voldemort. He smiled to himself, seeing the boy tense up at his words.

Harry leaned into a doorway, grasping each side of the frame to tilt his body forward. It was a bedroom covered in sheets. It was a nice size, but with no windows at all. He scrunched his nose in curiosity. Had he even seen a window yet?

Pulling himself back into the hall, Harry looked to his side. He opened his mouth to ask the old wizard, but closed it. He didn't need his help. "Stop following," he warned, speaking in as low of a voice as he could manage.

Voldemort's eyes lit up. "Make me."

Harry looked delicious standing there, puffing his little chest out like a mother robin defending her eggs. His messy fringe couldn't hide those glowing green eyes. The splatter of blood dried over his cheeks was hardly intimidating.

"If you think you're man enough."

A small smile began twitching its way onto Harry's lips. He felt like laughing openly at the comment. "I believe I'm the only one here that has any claim on being a 'man', you ugly snake," he said. "You can camouflage it all you want, but everyone knows what you really look like underneath all that magic."

The sly grin playing on Voldemort's lips fell away, contorting quickly into a lip-arching sneer. "This _is_ the real me." He pulled the stone out of his robes, suspended on a heavy chain around his neck. "I worked very hard for this. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have needed it."

Feeling his jaw fall open, Harry snapped his mouth shut again. "I wouldn't delve into the past right now, if I were you. You might find yourself very much dead if any more words leave that forked tongue of yours."

"Dead… Really..." growled Voldemort, flaring his nostrils.

Fighting the urge to retort, Harry turned his back on the man and continued down the hall. Of the seven rooms, he had seen three of them. He hoped there was a working lavatory, as the thought of a hot shower began to appeal to him now. He was exhausted. His muscles ached from the fall and from sitting too long with Albus. He still had blood on his hands and clothing from Draco.

_Draco..._

Draco would come looking for him. At least attempt to look for his master. Surely he'd want to find one of them. Remus would help.

Hearing the floorboards creak behind him, Harry gritted his teeth and whirled around. "I told you to stop following me! If you insist on pissing me off, I'm going to have to break your goddamned legs!" He jabbed a finger in the older man's chest, intent on making the threat all the more lucid.

Voldemort slapped his hand away, then snatched out and curled his fingers around Harry's throat. "What are you going to do? You look like you can't even hold up your own weight right now!" He shoved the boy back into the wall, sending several small pictures crashing to the floor.

Harry stood completely still, harvesting up what little strength he had left. Voldemort was more than a head taller and he was and his grip felt like steel. This wouldn't be a fight he could win. "Just point me to the loo," he croaked, keeping his sudden insecurity in check.

Voldemort softened a bit. He nodded, releasing his grip. He started off into the hall the way they came, and Harry took a deep breath before he followed.

* * *

Voldemort leaned up against the doorframe, jerking a thumb into the room at his side when Harry turned the corner. "It's in here. Please try to keep your filth off of the towels. I don't know how we'll be able to launder them."

Harry peered inside, keeping as much distance between himself and Voldemort as possible in the hallway. It was a decent sized room with a claw-footed tub resting in the centre of the black and grey tiles. It looked clean enough, with loads of fluffy towels stacked on shelves lining the back wall. Unbuttoning his shirt, he turned around to close the door; only to see it blocked by an arm holding it open.

Voldemort stood there like a perverted old voyeur, scanning Harry's body without a hint of shame. His wicked, half-grin set in place.

"What in the fuck do you think you're doing?" Harry cried, and pulled his shirt closed over his chest.

"Get naked," Voldemort ordered, gesturing to the boy's trousers. "I want to see what you look like before I bend you over that tub."

Harry snapped. He bolted from the room and thrust himself out, tackling the larger man with a shoulder to his gut. They both fell to the floor with a thud in the hall.

Harry straddled him, locking his knees to each side of his waist. Grasping the front of his robes, he lifted the Dark Lord's head, and then sent it crashing back into the floor with a potent right-hook to his chin.

It only took a minute or so of wrestling back before Voldemort gained control. He sat up and punched Harry in the stomach, doubling him over. Before the boy could recover, the larger man yanked him into his lap. Grasping both of Harry's elbows, he twisted them back behind him with great force. Harry was inadvertently thrust forward, face to face with the man of his nightmares.

Harry struggled to free himself, watching the line of blood dribble down The Dark Lord's chin. The hands on his elbows slid down until they reached his wrists, pinning them together.

Voldemort grinned maniacally and twisted the the boy's arms upward, thrusting Harry's face closer to his own.

Their noses were nearly touching now, and Harry cried out in frustration from being overpowered so easily. He tried to shove himself up with his knees, but his concussion and lack of rest had sapped most of his strength.

"Oh, Potter… what naughty little things I want to do to you right now." Voldemort shoved the boy's wrists up further behind his back, forcing Harry's lips to brush up against his cheek. "But first, I'll allow you to apologise to me."

Harry turned his head away. His heart was beating so rapidly he thought it might burst through his chest. The exhaustion was more evident now. His struggle to merely keep his head in place now was faltering.

"Go fuck your ugly dead-squib mother…"

Voldemort felt the slack in Harry's body. He clamped one hand over both small wrists and held them up at the most awkward angle and cupped the boy's chin with his free hand. "You do realise we're trapped here forever, correct?" he stated, arching an eyebrow with authority. "Really shouldn't be fighting like children if we're to share this place."

Harry couldn't shake his head for lack of strength. "No. They'll look for me," he said softly. "Draco and Remus won't give up."

Voldemort bellowed out with hysterical laughter.

Harry gulped. "Why are you laughing?"

"You're dead. They think you're dead. They think I killed you," he informed him. "I made it look that way so they'd never come searching for you. Unfortunately, I had no idea that idiot Muggle-lover would fuck this all up by wanting to trap me here."

Harry's eyes hooded. He wasn't sure if the cause was from dejection, or the fact that he was falling asleep in Voldemort's lap. "Draco will look for you. Lucius and Wormtail, they'll tell him-"

"They won't," Voldemort interrupted. "I'm afraid we're both stuck here… unless we can find a way out. I'm guessing you can't use magic either, or I'm sure I'd be dead by now."

Harry sighed heavily. "No, I can't."

Voldemort snorted in irony. "Lovely jubbly... We're completely fucked."

They both sat in silence for a moment, averting their eyes from the other. Biting down on his bottom lip as hard as he could, Harry fought to stay awake. It was torture, but he knew he couldn't show any more weakness. He should have booted Draco out of the room, or at least listened to him when he asked him to stay. His goddamn pride always took over though. He'd never wanted to let Voldemort win at anything.

"Now, where were we?" said Voldemort. "Oh, yes. Apologise for striking me."

"Get bent!" jeered Harry.

Voldemort slid his hand down Harry's chin, stopping at his throat. He began to strangle him, his face screwed in odium. "I could do whatever I wanted to you right here. I could end your life in less than a minute, Harry--All I ask from you is an apology."

Seeing little spots in his vision, Harry writhed over Voldemort's lap, desperate for oxygen. His arms twisted behind him as he craned his head back for a breath of air.

Before he passed out, Voldemort uncurled his fingers. "Are you ready to apologise?"

"No!" Harry cried through a fit of coughing.

"You stubborn little orphan... You'll be sorry for that." Voldemort lifted Harry's chin once more, looking over his once breathtaking features. The boy looked half dead. A bump had formed above the cut on his nose. Both his eyes were heavily blackened underneath. "Ugh, you look terrible."

"That means a lot coming from you," replied Harry, giving him a hardened glare.

Voldemort twisted Harry around and stood them both up, digging his arm under his chin. "Let's go for a walk, shall we? I'll allow you to get some rest before we resume this chat."

Kicking open the stuck bedroom door, Voldemort dropped Harry onto the floor beside an oversized bed. The bed itself looked cosy enough. It had thick, downy duvets and fluffy pillows. "I'm afraid this will have to do. I'm sorry to say I couldn't find a cupboard here big enough for you to sleep in."

Harry unlaced his boots and toed them off. "Very funny," he murmured, kicking a boot at the wall as he stood up. "You want me to apologise for splitting your lip open when you've slaughtered hundreds of innocent wizards and witches… No one can be that delusional." Harry pretended he didn't care if the Dark Lord was standing in the room with him. He walked over to the bed and threw the covers back. Climbing into it, he snuggled in and closed his eyes.

Saying nothing, Voldemort pursed his lips and walked out of the room without closing the door.

Harry got back up quickly, slamming the door closed. He huffed at the lack of any lock on the knob. He looked around the room, deciding a large wardrobe in the corner would serve his needs best. Putting his back against it with all the strength he had left, he only just managed to push it along the floor to cover the door. Satisfied with his handiwork, he peeled his clothing off and arched like a cat, yawning sleepily. He could allow himself the rest now. The old man wouldn't be able to move that obstacle.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Harry kept to his room as much as humanly possible. Each day he'd wake up to dim lights hovering on the ceiling like neon, that extinguished itself the moment he closed his eyes again. The room made him feel safer for some reason, keeping old Voldemort away from him.

The antique wardrobe that served as a barrier contained dozens of items of clothing that fit him perfectly. It was so odd; it was as if the place knew what he liked and what size he wore. It was filled with jeans, tee-shirts, and cut-offs; things he could lounge around in while he read books. There were books everywhere. Practically anything he desired was found within a few minutes of looking around.

There was a kitchen fully stocked with just about anything you could think of, always tasting crisp and fresh. He began cooking for himself. It was a nice way to pass the time, and Voldemort rarely showed his face there.

Each time he used a towel, he tossed it to the floor lazily. Whenever he returned, it was laundered and folded back up. It seemed the only thing he had to clean up was the kitchen, which didn't bother him in the least.

There were two bedrooms in the small, inescapable cottage. The other was claimed by Voldemort. It was larger, of course, and had a better bed. Besides those, along with the kitchen, lavatory and sitting room, there was a small but decent library and a den. The room he left Albus in seemed to have disappeared. As hard as he tried to find it, he never could.

Voldemort barely crossed his path. He spent his time hiding in the den. They both refused to speak when they did happen to bump into each other. Harry wanted to be happy with that; happy with the home, his room... but solitude and magic-less imprisonment were crushing obstacles to overcome.

* * *

Sitting in his room anymore didn't seem like much fun, even with the stacks of books on his bedside table. Tossing the book he held against the wall, he stood up and walked out towards the kitchen. Turning the corner, he slammed directly into Voldemort. Both of them fell off balance.

"Watch where you're going, fool." he hissed, picking himself up.

Voldemort laughed openly, still sitting on the floor. He pointed up at the young man, barely able to speak. "You- your glasses l-l-look absolutely ridiculous!" he cried, feeling his sides about to split at the sight of the large amount of duct tape wadded up to hold the frames together.

Harry began to walk away, knowing himself how awful they looked, but Voldemort stopped him by snatching his ankle. "Where are you going?" he asked, tugging it back towards him. He couldn't let him leave without saying anything. The brief touch alone had warmed him greater than the fire he sat in front of each day. Besides, Harry was wearing a pair of cut-off shorts that barely covered his arse and needed to be stared at for a short while longer.

"Let go!" shouted Harry, jerking back against the man. "What's wrong with you? You're acting very odd."

Voldemort tilted his head up, grinning cheekily. "I'm drunk," he stated, letting the laughter subside. "There's a liquor shelf in the den that keeps restocking itself. I haven't been sober in over a week."

"How wonderful for you," His words dripped with sarcasm. He kicked at the hand holding his ankle with his other boot several times before it fell away. "I'm quite happy you've found a hobby you're good at - but I'm hungry and I need to eat something. So, get back to your liquor and stop bothering me."

Voldemort whimpered and got up on all fours, following the boy down the hallway as fast as he could. "I'm hungry, too."

Harry entered the kitchen, walking directly to the crisper and pulled out a peach. "Then eat." he replied.

Pulling himself up to his knees, he batted his lashes at the young man standing in front of him. "I can't cook, and I'm sick of fruit. Maybe..." he hesitated, watching Harry's face scrunch up in anger.

"I'm not cooking for you. I'm not your servant." he replied bitterly, then bit into his peach.

The older wizard whimpered again. "I've been so good. I haven't bothered to you in weeks. Couldn't you just... cook something? I'll share my liquor with you." he said, forcing a smile onto his face.

Sitting there on his knees, clad in tight jeans and an even tighter black cotton roll neck, Voldemort appeared even more youthful and downright fucking handsome. Harry ignored the twitch in his cut-offs and sank his teeth into the peach.

"Come on, baby, you know you'd love a stiff drink."

"I don't drink anymore, idiot." boasted Harry. He yanked his glasses off, hanging them on the collar of his t-shirt. The cut and bruising had faded significantly. Harry's pretty face stirred Voldemort's dormant libido with fantastical delight.

"You, of all people, _need _a drink. Maybe it'll loosen that stick that's lodged up your arse."

Harry resisted the urge to kick him in the face. "You fucking pig, I should--stand up, you ridiculous drunk! You look pathetic on the floor like that!"

"Come have one drink with me. You can do that. I'll leave you alone again for another week." he begged.

Harry sighed. He did bad things he usually couldn't remember doing in the morning when he drank. That's how his affair with Draco began, although he hardly regretted that. It was that Lucius incident that kept popping up... He shuddered involuntarily and looked back down at the pathetic wizard. "Just one and you'll go back into hiding, right?"

Voldemort hid a smirk as he righted himself and followed Harry to the den. The boy might have been the best of their side, but his gullible nature was still fully intact. Running his tongue over his lips, he smacked them in hunger, watching the saucy little number in his vision saunter along like a rabbit to a trap.

* * *

"Now this is the stuff." said Voldemort, pouring a rather large amount of gin into an engraved drinking glass. He handed it over to Harry, who sat down in a comfy chair.

Harry held it up to his nose, cringing at the scent. "Don't you have anything in there to mix it with?" he asked, taking a small sip. The burning liquid forced a violent cough.

"Just drink it," ordered Voldemort, sporting his own drinking glass now. He hopped up on the desk over in the corner to face Harry. He lifted his glass up, grinning stupidly. "Bottoms up."

After twenty minutes or so, Harry finished another glass, only to find it filled again. "Just have one more, you ninny. You'd think you weren't having any fun."

Harry had to admit to himself he felt much more at ease. The room had a fireplace, giving off warmth he hadn't felt since he's gotten there. He hadn't noticed Voldemort's glass sat on the desk, untouched. "…should stop, 'm already drunk." he replied, shaking the fussiness from his head. His overgrown locks of hair fanned out over his cheeks and hung softly over his reddened face.

Licking his lips, Voldemort tried not to stare too much. Harry looked just a bit too pretty sitting in his chair, falling slantways against the arm. He gestured, coaxing the glass up to the boy's lips. His eyes centred on him, watching him tap at a shard of ice with the tip of his tongue. _Soooo fucking sexy_.

Harry looked up from his glass, squinting. "What're you looking at?"

Voldemort stood up and sauntered over to his chair, stopping in front of him. "You," he half-whispered. "I'm looking at you."

A jolt of adrenaline shot through Harry's veins, evident by the glass trembling in his hand. He took another large gulp and set it down on the arm of the chair. He was feeling extremely uncomfortable now, despite the warmth radiating between them. "Goin' tabed now..." he said. He tried to stand, but his legs wouldn't listen.

A shoe began nudging itself between his ankles, coaxing them apart. Harry looked down at the action in confusion. It was growing clear Voldemort wasn't going to allow him leave the room untarnished.

Two long fingers grazed over his cheek, resting under his chin, lifting it up. Harry stared up at the man in awe. Voldemort dusted the pads of his fingers over his full lips, across his cheek, tracing the line of his neck. Harry looked over to his glass and cursed at it, hating that the soft contact on his skin felt so wonderful.

The glass was plucked away and set aside next to the other on the desk. Harry attempted to stand once more, finding himself shoved back into the chair. He couldn't speak, fearing he might say something wrong, or moan... either would be bad. He merely shook his head as the wizard began prying his knees apart with his hands. To his disgust, his knees relented without putting up any sort of a fight.

Voldemort kneeled down in front of him. He draped his arms around him and pulled him into his embrace. "Wrap your arms and legs around me." His sexy drawl purred into Harry's ear as his head tipped forward onto his shoulder.

Something was definitely stirring. As hard as he tried to contain or conceal it, liquid lust soared through his veins. His legs encircled Voldemort's waist on their own then, locking at the ankles.

"Now hold on tight." he whispered, brushing his freshly-shaven cheek across Harry's exposed throat.

Harry lifted his arms up and clasped his finger together behind his neck. Voldemort stood up then, a look of victory spread evenly over his features.

"You takin' me tabed?" slurred Harry, nuzzling his face against the hollow of Voldemort's collarbone.

Without a word, the old wizard carried him out of the den and headed towards his bedroom.

* * *

Voldemort sat Harry down on the edge of his bed and bent down in front of him. He began unlacing his boots, tugging them off as fast as he could manage.

Harry sat there, sloped forward, snorting loudly as his glasses were plucked out from his collar and tossed across the room. He watched them fly away, and lifted a hand to wave bye-bye to them.

"Shh."

Harry turned his head back towards the sound, brushing his lips against the beautiful man's cheek. A bashful smile curled up over the corners of his mouth, causing Voldemort to hiss between his teeth.

Cupping the boyish face in his hands, Voldemort captured his mouth in a fervent kiss. Harry's lips parted, allowing the warm tongue to graze along his own. It was breathtaking, really… the sensation that compelled him to desire such a simple act. Draco kissed well, maybe even greatly, but the fireworks that sprang up and heated his blood were birthed for the very first time. He whimpered as the man broke away and stood over him.

"Hurry up, Potter. Take your shirt off," he commanded, pulling his own restrictive clothing away from his body. Harry shrugged and lifted his shirt up over his head. "Now the shorts – Get'um off."

His hands hovered over the button for a moment as his mind seemed to start functioning again. He bit down on his bottom lip, wondering if what he was doing would lead to-

The sounds of slapping rang out. Voldemort smacked the hands away to unbutton the constrictive clothing himself. Harry fell back into the bed as the shorts were tugged off his hips. His little pants came off next. Now, lying under The Dark Lord's sinful gaze, Harry mewed at him in the most wanton of sounds.

Voldemort nearly climaxed. He held out his hand, coaxing Harry to take it. "Come on, that's right, sit up."

Harry obliged immediately. His head fell against his chest and his eyes closed, overcome by the dizziness of the gin.

Lifting his chin, Voldemort captured his sweet mouth once more. He stood over him, very ready to join their bodies. "Come on now, wake up, baby. I wish I could make this more romantic, but... we need to just get it over with before you change your mind… or sober up. Now," He began stroking the full, hard length of his shaft, prodding the tip against Harry's lips. "Why don't you make use of that perfect mouth of yours and get me all wet for you."

Harry scrunched his nose up in a deliciously adorable grin; something Draco had bragged about once. _"A few drinks in his belly, and he's all mine. He'll do anything I ask him to. And that smile... Well, I can't even begin to explain it well enough…"_

And here it was, teasing the head of his cock with the flat of his tongue. Harry's graceful fingers wrapped themselves around Voldemort's pulsing organ. The soft pads felt like warm velvet, massaging the man into blissful torment. He leaned in closer, gently nipping at it with his teeth.

Voldemort's head lolled back. He groaned out into the air like the Warlord that he was as Harry enveloped him. His hands fisted in the unruly black hair. He rocked his hips gently in rhythm with the prolonged sweeps of his tongue. The feeling of worn and damp silk running along his length was almost too much to bear. He knew if he looked down at Harry he'd come immediately. This is what he dreamed about. This was far more than he'd ever hoped for. The young man was extracting sensations he hadn't thought possible and certainly never felt with anyone else. His heart ached at the beauty of it all. For the first time in his life he wanted to caress the giver, hold them in his arms, and cuddle with them.

Cuddle. Yes, he could cuddle.

The emotions stirred deeply inside of him. He felt free, like he could float away in a breeze. The room seemed to glow in a hue of pink, casting tiny heart-shaped confetti over the bed. This was what Draco was talking about. This is exactly what the little Death Eater meant when he said he could touch heaven in Harry's mouth.

Voldemort brazenly panted for air and pushed Harry back to retain the mood. He wanted to look at his face, run the back of his hand across his cheek. He wanted to show him that he understood now. He knew what love meant. He had been such a fool, thinking love was for the weak. This was the strongest he had ever felt. He could easily love the Boy-Who-Lived for eternity.

Harry squirmed around in annoyance. "What are you waiting for? Just shag me before I black out, old man." he grumbled. He fell back into the mattress with a cluck of his tongue.

Voldemort's eyes flashed crimson. The tender feelings froze solid in his veins. He stood there for a moment, shamed and dumbfounded.

"So… that's how it's going to be?"

Harry sneered. "You want to fuck me or not?"

His dark eyes narrowed. Grabbing his ankles, he flipped Harry onto his stomach before he could protest. He yanked him halfway over the bed, bending him over the mattress. Pinning his thin wrists behind his back and positioning himself between the cleft of his arse, Voldemort snarled like a tiger in heat as his prey wriggled underneath. "Have it your way, Potter. I'm certainly going to have it mine."

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

The Space Between

Chapter 3

Untangling himself from a mass of sheets, Harry cupped his forehead. He remembered this awful feeling that buzzed him so hard - hangover. He groaned and fell out of bed, hitting the floor with a smack.

A flood of terror struck him. The sheets fell away from his hips as he stood, pooling around his ankles on the floor. He was naked. He looked around the room, squinting at the unfamiliar furnishings. Not his room. He screwed his eyes shut. He reached down blindly and grabbed the sheet to cover up before looking back at the bed.

Voldemort propped his head up in his hand and smiled.

"Oh my god!" he screamed, pointing an accusing finger at him. "No, no, no---I did not sleep with you!"

"Yes, yes, yes you did, Potter," mocked Voldemort. "And you loved it. You were all over me last--"

"Shut the fuck up!" shrieked Harry. He threw open the door and stomped out.

Voldemort wrapped his own sheet around his waist and dashed down the hall towards Harry's room. The door was closed now. The sounds of something very large being shoved against it rang into his ears. Throwing the door open, he caught it halfway before the wardrobe had fully blocked it.

Harry dove out from behind the wardrobe in an attempt to exit the room through the crack. Voldemort lunged out and grabbed him up. "Stop it!" he hissed, shunning blows and spittle being hurled at his face. They fell on the carpet in a brutal heap.

All the pent up frustration Harry had been holding back burst forth. His blows were unstoppable. His intent to kill the old man became very evident. "You knew I can't drink! He told you!" He thrust his palm into Voldemort's nose, knocking him back, and then leapt on top on him to continue his pummelling. "He fucking told you!"

Desperately reaching out across the floor as he ducked by another swinging fist, Voldemort grasped a belt that was looped through a pair of dirty jeans. He pressed his heel into the material and tugged it free. Grabbing him by the scruff of his hair, he wrestled Harry into his chest. Twisting his arms behind his back, he painstakingly looped the thin leather around his wrists and fastened the buckle. His ragged breath mingled with the boy's wheezing intakes of air, their muscles contracted in seething dominance.

Harry's eyes darted around the room at the sudden shift of power. His own lack of self control had landed him in this position. Evil, wicked, sinner, betrayer---What had he done? Voldemort's hands were all over him. He panted in rhythm with his throbbing heart, straining at the leather cutting into his wrists. Caught somewhere between hate and fear, his jumbled words tore from his throat. "You fucking bastard! I'll kill you! I swear if you touch me again I'll cut your prick off!" Tearing a large strip of sheet apart, Voldemort roughly gagged him with it.

"Stop struggling, I've won." he said darkly. He pinned him between his thighs, securing a solid grip as the red terror began to subside. Harry realized soon enough that he was trapped securely in Voldemort's clutches, and he had no plans on letting go. He wilted, letting his head fall over the older man's shoulder in defeat.

"Right, just relax now. I'm not going to hurt you," His voice was more calming, and he cradled the shaky boy in his lap. "I just need time to think. I hadn't planned on you getting this worked up."

They sat there in silence. Harry's thumping heart began to slow, conceding to the soft petting of his hair. He tensed at each stroke, biting down on his gag and hating himself for having a weakness for the delicate caresses.

After long thought, the Dark Lord sighed heavily. Threading his fingers through the mass of jet-black hair, he gently tugged the boy's head back to look at him. "I took advantage of you, I know. I've done a lot of things to serve my own purpose. That's how I am. You're going to have to learn to deal with that. No one is coming to save you… or me. And whether you'll ever admit to it, you're just as attracted to me as I am to you.

"Now, you can keep trying to fight it. Mourn your parents and brood in self pity until you die from tearing yourself apart, that's your choice. Or you can make the most of our unfortunate situation and work with me on getting used to one another." He dropped Harry's head back against his chest and cupped him under his arms and legs. He stood up, amazed as how limp the boy had gone. Had his words meant something? Would Harry allow himself to play with fire?

Hot, fat tears clung to Harry's lashes. He moulded into the Dark Lord's embrace as he carried him to bed. So many people had lost their lives to this one man, the evil incarnate that had destroyed practically the whole of the wizarding world. And here he was, cuddled in his arms… and strangely liking it.

Voldemort turned the boy onto his side the moment he touched the mattress. Tearing another long strip of cloth apart, Harry's ankles were trussed together and secured to his wrists. The Dark Lord stood up and draped the remainder of the sheet over his lower half as he leaned in to his face. "I'm going to get some coffee and let you think about what I've said. When I return, I'm going to resume what we began last night. We're going to fuck until we fall asleep again, whether you want to or not. But I think you want to," he said, looking deep into Harry's wide eyes. "It's impossible to lie to me. I can see right through you."

* * *

Staring candidly at the door leading to the den, Harry took several deep breaths. What he would do to get a hold of a bottle of whiskey right then. His guilt kept him from knocking. The sin kept him from walking away.

It was the guilt that tortured him the most. He had slept with the monster every night over the last month. But he hadn't meant to betray his parents.

Looking down, he pinched himself as hard as he could. He found himself doing that quite often now. It was a weak punishment for weak behaviour. Then something Voldemort had tossed out at him a few days earlier refused to leave his thoughts. It tore at his psyche much more than he ever thought it would.

"_A lot of my men that fell to your wand had families, too."_

At first, he shook it off. This was war. War was hell. No one stops to ask how many children you have before they slay you. You kill or you get killed. But that wasn't always the way it was. There were a handful of times where he and a few others snuck into private homes and assassinated Death Eaters while they slept. There was no honour in that, no risk, and it rang alarms in his head when he thought about his own family.

"No, I'm not a murderer." he mused aloud.

"You keep telling yourself that," said Voldemort, leaning out from his bedroom door.

Harry snapped his head towards the voice with a slight look of shock on his face. "I thought you were in there." he murmured, pointing to the den.

"You want a drink?" said Voldemort. He stepped out into the hall.

"No," he replied quickly, and turned his head away to hide the flush on his cheeks.

"Well, I'm going to the kitchen." He walked by Harry, running his fingers along his jaw line as he passed, but Harry jerked away from the touch.

Harry could smell the soft fragrance of rose oil on his skin. His eyes focused on the stone protruding from under his shirt, unable to meet his gaze at that moment. He wanted so badly to look into his eyes. He wanted to touch his face the way Voldemort touched him. He hated himself for wanting so much from the man who was his sworn enemy.

"When are you going to let yourself live?" said Voldemort. "We talked about this hundreds of times now. We leave our pasts out of it. No titles, no war, no painful memories." He grasped Harry's arms roughly, startling him from his daze.

Harry looked up at him but said nothing. He felt guilty enough about this too, promising to try and forget the past nearly every day over the past month, but it was much easier said than done.

"Let it go," he whispered softly. He looked hurt. His hands slipped away from Harry's arms and he turned to walk again to the kitchen.

Harry gritted his teeth in frustration. With a large swallow of pride in his constricted throat, he thrust his own arm out and grabbed Voldemort's, stopping him before he was out of reach. "Wait!" he cried.

Voldemort turned around quickly, as if expecting the sudden change. "Yes?"

The guilt threatened to rise, but he pushed it away. Voldemort was right. They only had each other now. No pasts, only a future to think of. He couldn't go on forever being the hero; there was no one there to be a hero for.

"I... er…" stammered Harry.

Voldemort took the hand gripped over his upper arm and tugged Harry away from the wall. "Follow me," he said sternly, and opened the door to the den. He coaxed Harry inside and sat him down on the leather couch facing the fireplace. "Let's have a drink. Only one for you, though." He grinned down at Harry and poured them both a glass of honey wine.

Harry took his glass, resting it in his lap as Voldemort walked to the fireplace and began to stroke the fire. He crossed his ankles, fighting the urge to run screaming from the room. Voldemort was kneeling in front of the fireplace, poking at charred bits of wood to get them to ignite. Harry's eyes wandered over the man's backside more than once. He sipped at his wine, lost in thought, and dropped the glass in his lap as his eyes locked with Voldemort's.

"Ah, fuck." he groaned, staring down at the mess he'd made.

Voldemort stood up and tossed Harry a hand towel. He smirked amusedly. "Were you looking at me?"

Harry shrugged. "You look at me all the time."

Throwing his wineglass in the fireplace, Voldemort grabbed Harry and pulled him into his arms.

Too-green eyes fluttered closed. Harry grabbed Voldemort's face in his hands. With a violent jerk towards him, their lips smashed against the other. He had meant to make the kiss rough, painful. He hated him so much, hated him for the desire that burned in his veins.

But he loved it too – the kissing, the touch, the sex. Voldemort's warm embrace felt so fucking good. As if this was a spot that was carved out just for him. Harry clung to it, absorbing the heat through his clothes, squirming against his groin to feel his arousal.

Voldemort tipped his head back for much needed air. He shook it lightly, clearing the dangerous thoughts of wanting to throw the attractive young man in his arms on the ground and pound him through the floorboards. A swell of pride cleansed his wicked intentions. Harry had no idea how thoughtless he was acting.

The brooding, self-hatred Harry wallowed in was growing very tiresome. They both made many mistakes throughout their lives, albeit one more than the other, but that wasn't the point. No longer would he give the boy the guiltless pleasure of being ravaged whenever he pretended he didn't want it. No. Harry needed to earn this now. Nothing was free from this point on.

The Dark Lord wiped the saliva from his frowning lips and dropped his hands. "You're a slut." he said, and walked out of the room.

Harry stood in the middle of the den with his mouth agape.

* * *

Revenge…

It was the only word that drifted through Harry's mind. It was something he needed to accomplish. He had to exact it. He prowled like a tiger, waiting to strike out at his prey.

It was exhilarating really. The fire in his heart burned hot once more, scorching his sense of guilt. The will to live, the need to retaliate refuelled the mischievous part of his mind. Perhaps he couldn't kill him, but he could make the old snake's life a little less convenient.

Standing by the bathroom, Harry stuck his foot out, tripping the older wizard as he exited. A rough bump from the hip sent the temporarily addled man hurling to the ground, completing his revenge for the day. Harry ran into the bathroom as fast as he could before Voldemort could right himself, locking the door behind him.

"Have a nice trip?" he shouted.

Pulling the damp towel off of his head, Voldemort balled it up in anger and threw it at the wall. "Could you possibly be any more childish?"

Loud pounding against the strong wooden frame vibrated against Harry's back as he braced against the door. "Which would you prefer, old man, childish or slut? You're choice."

"These little pranks you keep pulling are amusing, yes… to you. I, on the other hand, have grown very weary of them. Are you going to come out and take your medicine like a man?"

"Piss off!" Harry shouted back.

"Well then, I'll just go make some breakfast for us while you laugh this off." said Voldemort. His footsteps on the wooden floorboards drifted off towards the kitchen.

"NO!" cried Harry, fearing he might set fire to the kitchen again. He hastily unlocked the door and threw it open. "You know you're not--"

Harry froze. Voldemort smirked down at him and shoved him back into the room. "You think you're pretty clever, don't you?" he said, entering the room. "I can be clever too."

Harry's expression lit up playfully. "So I see… I'm impressed," he said, feeling his back collide with the wall behind him.

"Nowhere to run now," commented Voldemort, cocking his brow at the boy. He watched Harry's movements, expertly anticipating which way he'd try to run.

As the taller man closed the distance between them, Harry bolted to his left, bee lining for the door. A hand shot out with seeker speed, grasping at anything it could touch and closed over a handful of tee-shirt. Voldemort jerked back on it as he whirled around to face him and Harry plummeted back into his embrace, knocking them both to the ground. His duct taped glasses clattered away noisily across the tiles, out of reach.

Harry's heart fluttered in his chest. Voldemort was struggling to hold him down, but the look on his face nothing short of impish. He found himself flat on the cold tiled floor, hands pinned above his head, hips immovable under straddling weight.

"So, how do you plan on getting out of here now?" asked Voldemort. Harry opened his mouth, but Voldemort silenced him with the pad of his hand. "No, don't speak. You'll only ruin this."

Harry reared his hips up to test his limits. Voldemort bucked back. He quickly realized he was more aroused than he'd ever remembered. The helplessness of the situation became addicting, being held down by him drove him absolutely wild. Voldemort was gorgeous, more masculine than anything he could fathom, smelling of gin and musk. He radiated charm and grace, even as he snarled and tore the tee-shirt away from Harry's chest. A whimper escaped Harry's lips as the rest of his clothing was violently ripped apart and cast off.

With a quick yank, the belt of Voldemort's dressing gown fell away. He sat back on his heels and opened his robe. "You are in so much trouble, Mr. Potter."

"C'mon, just fuck me. Get it over with," growled Harry. He grabbed the collar of his robe and shoved it down over his shoulders, eager to sink his teeth into the pallid, exposed flesh.

Voldemort grabbed his wrists and crashed them back to the floor. He leaned in, hovering just above Harry's face. "No_ fucking_, Potter. We fuck all the time. And stop squirming! You're going to make it impossible for me to taste every inch of your body if you can't control yourself."

Harry couldn't recall ever truly experiencing the actual act of foreplay before. It was always sex and orgasm and sleep. Draco, as delicious and beautiful as he was, had never really turned him on all that much. He adored the closeness to his hardened enemy, but the act of sex was something he went through with to get what he really wanted. And with Draco, he wanted a good friend.

This was so much different. The man on top of him was making him want it -- and he did want it, more than anything. Never in his few years of lost virginity had he felt the soft persistence of a tongue dip in and out of his navel, or the stroking of wet patterns of snakes across his throat. His skin tingled with goosed bumps, feeling Voldemort toy with the thatch of hair above his burgeoning erection. This was to die for.

"Tell me you love this," whispered Voldemort. His hot tongue darted across the tip of his cock, sending him into a fit of shivers.

"Oh god, yes… I do love this,"

Voldemort reared up and shucked off his robe. Harry's hands were all over him, rubbing his flesh, clawing at his back. Their chests hard-pressed together, mouth to mouth, tongue stroking tongue. The kiss was fervent, stronger than before. Their grinding hips forced groans into each others mouths. Voldemort sat up, hating the tiled floor under his knees. He yanked Harry up with him and threw him up against the wall.

Harry wrapped his arms and legs around him as Voldemort held him, pressing their bodies tight. Angry fingers dug into hips, wanting to explore the flesh between Harry's thighs. "Hold on better, will you?" growled Voldemort.

"I'm trying," whimpered Harry. Try as he might, their sweat-slicked flesh became a hindrance. "I can't seem—"

He silenced Harry once more with his mouth, and slammed him against the wall as he ground his erection into the apex of his thighs. The gyration halted as Harry bit down on his lip. "You're a real little minx, aren't you?" he growled, and ripped his bottom lip away from Harry's teeth. Filthy lust filled the room, and Voldemort wanted more than anything to tie Harry to his bed and completely devour him.

Grabbing his wrist, he yanked him away the wall. "Come on."

The moment they crossed the threshold they resumed their embrace. Hard, plundering kissing and gropes over their backsides. They fell on the bed still entwined, wrestling to top the other until Harry was once more restrained under the larger man's weight.

"Don't worry, I'll make it very worth your while." said Voldemort. Their mouths crushed together once more. The harshness faded as tongues lapped lightly against the other. Their panting breaths slowed, their hands ran through each others hair. Soft, black lashes rested over their cheeks, both falling dizzily unaware of reality any longer.

Long legs wrapped themselves around Voldemort's waist. They made love as the neon lights above their head dimmed, glowing down over their glazed flesh in shades of pale moonlight. The room cooled, causing them to entwine more into each other's kiss. Muffled moans of pure desire ran off their tongues, into their mouths, captured by the other.

Harry's arms encircled Voldemort's chest as he was pulled up into his lover's lap. Once rough, brutal hands now rested over his hips, guiding him into blissful torment. He fell forward, unable to move as a glorious orgasm assailed his muscles. He heard the sounds of Tom crying out, saw his teeth bite into his shoulder, feeling nothing but rapture.

Declining back into the mattress, Harry held his hand over his heart. Voldemort snuggled into his side, planting tiny kisses on the bite marks cluttering his skin. He pulled the duvets up around them, uncaring about the sticky mess. "Sleep in here tonight," he whispered against the reddened flesh. "Sleep in here every night..."

Harry curled up in his embrace. "You really want me to?"

"I insist. I won't let you go," he boasted, tightening his arms around Harry's waist.

Harry chuckled. "Ah, I supposed I should bend to your will. You are the great Dark Lord after all,"

"Would you like a matching wound on your other shoulder? I have enough stamina for another go..." retorted Voldemort.

Yawning loudly, Harry let his eyelids close. "Mercy. I'm too tired." he murmured, feeling himself drifting off into much needed slumber.

"Tomorrow then." he replied.

"Mhmm, night."

Voldemort smiled and closed his eyes, inhaling the soft scent of his lover in his arms. "Night."

* * *

Harry sat back in his chair holding a book in his hands. Two plates full of eggs and fruit sat on the table untouched, as both men preferred now to eat their meals together. Feeling quite hungry, Harry's head snapped up from his book as the sounds of footsteps entered the kitchen. "It's about time, I--" he began, and then froze as his eyes drifted to Voldemort.

"Good lord," he murmured, scanning over the audacious robe the man was wearing. Voldemort sauntered into the room, gliding along the floor as if his feet weren't touching the ground.

"Good morning, baby!" he chimed, allowing his heartfelt emotions to ripple out away from him.

"What on earth are you wearing?" Harry pursed his lips. "Did you enter a Gilderoy Lockhart look-a-like contest?" He glared at the gem-encrusted robe in forget-me-not blue, wishing he could set it on fire.

"Huh?" asked Voldemort, stopping himself from biting into his egg covered fork. "Honestly, I thought… you didn't…"

"I don't like it," Harry retorted. "Robes are for wizards, we're not wizards anymore. That robe is for burning."

Voldemort harrumphed. "Gilderoy Lockhart. Of all the nerve..."

"I'm surprised you haven't put curlers in your hair," said Harry. He returned his attention to his book. His desire to eat had suddenly diminished.

"Perhaps you'd lend me a pair of your torn up jeans. I could settle for the I'm a poor, little orphan look, just like you," sneered Voldemort. He threw his fork down on his plate as his spirits plummeted. "I was in such a good mood when I woke up, but like always, you go and ruin that!"

Harry threw his book down on the table, sending scrambled eggs and bits of smashed peach flying up into the air. "I'm not trying to ruin anything! I don't choose what the wardrobe wants me to wear, and neither should you!" he shouted. He stood up and stomped off out of the room, but Voldemort followed directly behind him.

"I don't bloody choose it either!"

Harry stopped in the hallway and whirled around to face him. "You don't?"

Voldemort softened a bit, feeling very sheepish. "No! I thought… maybe you'd… put them in there,"

Harry began to laugh. "I think I understand," he said with relief. He took Voldemort's arm and led him to his room. He stood them in front of the large oak wardrobe. "This room was probably Albus's. It's somehow charmed to dress him in a certain way. Why it started now, I have no idea. You can ask it to change your clothes back."

"He was going to give me the smaller room?" he said through a sneer. "That bastard."

Harry rolled his eyes and heaved him forward. "Just start begging."

"Beg?" he said with a smirk. "How do you know this?"

Harry rubbed his chin, trying to remember the experience. "Well, sometime a while back, my clothes began to change. My wardrobe was full of three-piece suits. I just remember thinking how badly I did not want to wear them, and when I opened it again, they'd switched back."

Clasping his fingers together, Voldemort pleaded with his wardrobe to return his old clothing back to him. Harry inched the doors apart and peeked inside. He squeaked and slammed them shut. "Try again," he blurted. "Give it more feeling this time."

As Voldemort gave it his second attempt, he couldn't help but groan out between pleas. Delicately nimble fingers were unbuttoning the abomination of a robe covering his body. He heard the words 'burning this,' and saw Harry leave the room, but continued with his ritualistic begging towards the wardrobe.

The warmth returned behind him soon after. Tender arms encircled his bare waist, thumbs hooked under the elastic of his waistband. "Okay, look inside. Maybe it worked this time."

The clothing had returned to normal, relieving them both. "This is brilliant," said Voldemort, scanning across the folded items lining each side drawer. "I'll bet--" A light bulb flashed in his head. He looked back at the boy standing next to him, snatched the glasses from his face and tossed them into the wardrobe.

"Hey!" shouted Harry. Hands clamped down over his shoulders, forcing him to kneel in front of the wardrobe. Harry groped out blindly, hitting the floor on his hands and knees with a smack.

"Beg it to fix those bloody glasses," said Voldemort. He was enthralled now, his mind raced to think of anything else they could toss inside if this worked. "Or I'll throw you inside of it and tell it to fix that awful hair of yours."

Harry growled. "I wasn't the one wearing the clothing it picked out for me."

"You're not begging." He prodded Harry's back with his toe, giving him a shove forward.

"This is... oh, all right! Oh, great wardrobe, I implore you to repair my glasses," he mocked, giggling between every other word. He bowed deep, prostrating himself to the oak carvings. "I feel like a Death Eater down here. Maybe you could wait outside or something."

Voldemort grumbled under his breath as he yanked the doors open. Harry flinched back, nearly getting caught by the edges.

Unravelling meters of tape, the glasses underneath were indeed intact. "Yes! It worked!" shouted Voldemort gleefully. "My word… it really worked..."

"It did?!" Harry leapt up to his feet, goggling down at the glasses. He thrust them onto his face and marvelled at the crystal clear vision given back to him. "It even fixed the prescription. This is amazing!"

Both men hopped up and down in elation. "Maybe this is where it's channelling our magic! We can do magic, Harry!" cried Voldemort. They threw their arms around each other and hugged onto the other in utter glee. Voldemort pressed hundreds of tiny kisses over Harry's forehead as his mind began to swirl around at all the possibilities of using the wardrobe. "We could find a way to leave this place."

Harry's eyes narrowed and his hands fell away from Voldemort. "Leave? We can't leave." he said.

"Of course we can leave. We just need to figure out how this operates. I'm betting there's ways of asking it for other things, perhaps the books that old fool got the spell from." said Voldemort. He became engrossed in the wardrobe; running his fingers across the carvings, feeling the magic seep into his skin.

"Why would you want to leave? We don't even know what kind of world it is out there now." He was suddenly very afraid. He and Voldemort had grown so much in their time together. If they went back, would Voldemort return as The Dark Lord? Would he be The Boy Who Lived again? Had the war ended? Who had won?

Voldemort smiled sadly at him. "I know what you're thinking. It won't be that way anymore. I...I want to stay with you, but we can be together outside of this house. We don't have to go back to fighting."

Harry shook his head. "You say that now, but the power will pull you back in. It's too tempting. You'll be what you were in a matter of minutes."

"That's not true," whispered Voldemort, looking hurt. His hand fell away from the wardrobe. Harry looked pleadingly at him and he complied, putting the wardrobe in the back of his mind - at least until Harry went to bed. "Forget about the magic, we don't need it."

Harry smiled in relief and clasped his hands with Voldemort's. "Want to try and have breakfast again?"

He smiled back at him with a toothy grin. "Sure. Want me to cook this time?"

Harry grimaced. "Er, no. I'll cook," he said, yanking the larger man out of the room, away from the wardrobe.

_

* * *

_


	4. Chapter 4

The Space Between

Chapter 4

The study was cloaked in near darkness. The remnants of the fire that burned itself out hours before cast an eerie orange glow over the two prone bodies lying in front of the fireplace. Entwined in each other's embrace, the two lovers moved slowly, causing delicious friction between their damp bodies. Endless hours of mind-blowing lovemaking exhausted much of their energy, causing all movement to slow to nothing more than soft panting and light rocking against the other.

Unable to remember anything other than learning to feel life between them for the last few months… or maybe years, both men gradually began to realise that nothing else seemed to matter. At least, that was what Harry was hoping. Trailing meticulously slow wet-kisses and tiny nips over his beautiful lover's chest - up to his mouth and back down again - he delighted in forcing the soft squeaks of joy from Voldemort's lips.

"You look so peaceful right now. I wish you could see yourself lying here," he whispered. He reached off to the side, feeling blindly around, touching the cooled bricks of the fireplace hearth. Harry's fingers slid along the rough texture until the cold ceramic of the mixing bowl found itself in his grasp.

"I don't think I've ever felt this relaxed in my entire life," Voldemort smiled up at the boy sitting over his pelvis, surveying the bowl in his arms with cunning. Harry's hand dipped inside the large painted bowl, fingering the contents as a sly grin curled on his glowing face. "What is that you're holding?" asked Voldemort. He sat forward to peer within, but Harry shifted his attention to the older man and pressed him back into the bearskin rug.

Fingers holding him at bay began tracing light spherical patterns against the light covering of hair around Voldemort's nipples. "No need to be so nosy, you'll find out soon enough," Harry teased, fixing his stare back into the bowl. He set the bowl aside and leaned back, resting on his heels. He licked his bottom lip unconsciously. The remnants of the sweet substance had stained his fingers, leaving its evidence circled around each of his lover's pectorals.

"Oh, they melted somewhat. I set them too close to the fire," he whispered, frowning slightly. His fingers played over Voldemort's lips, gently coaxing them open with light tapping. His own tongue swept across his lips, thrilled at the enthusiasm of his lover's attempts to eagerly suck the chocolate off of each of his fingers. He reached into the bowl once more, garnering a handful of tiny chocolate pieces, holding one over Voldemort's mouth teasingly. "You want more?" he said breathlessly, eliciting a moan from his lover's greedy throat.

Harry leaned forward and pressed his torso down over Voldemort's to hold him secure. His lethargic rocking hastened, pressuring steadily against the Dark Lord's erection. Voldemort's wet tongue captured the sugary morsel, dissolving the chocolate chip in his mouth between Harry's fingers.

Hungry green eyes flitted between the older man's beautiful face - his eyes closed, lips parted in anticipation - and his lovely chocolate covered chest begging to be tasted. A roguish smile danced over Harry's lips, deciding that pleasing both his lover and himself was quite possible. Gathering up a half-melted chocolate piece between his fingers, he pressed in between Voldemort's full, red lips as he leaned into the pale chest. Voldemort sucked at the digits, arching his back up. He rested on his elbows as Harry lapped at the messy patterns, gliding his warm tongue over it with firm strokes.

"We're going to need another bath," purred Voldemort, bucking his hips against the boy, extracting reserve energy given to him by the rich aphrodisiac.

Harry giggled softly, sending light vibrations over the goosed flesh under his mouth. "And I suppose you object to bathing with me again? You seemed to have been enjoying yourself this morning."

"No, no... I don't mind at all. I only fear we might drown if we fall asleep in there again," he replied, feigning concern. "I think we'd better wait, sleep here on the rug, you in my arms. It's not like we have to be clean for anyone other than ourselves." He reached up, cupping the cherubic face of the boy. Harry wiggled around over his erection wantonly, mewing against the sweet tongue probing his mouth. Voldemort fell back into the fur rug, catching his breath. "You're going to kill me, Harry. I swear you just have too much energy."

Harry lifted the chain around Voldemort's neck, hypnotized by the glittering scarlet gem. "I thought this made you younger," he whispered seductively, impaling himself over his lover's cock. He moved slowly, up and down, the gem slipping through his fingers as he fell into rhythm.

Voldemort groaned out in response, unable to return the movements. "I... it doesn't work here, not yet," he stammered, struggling to meet the brisk actions of his young lover. Harry tilted his head, feeling empathy for the older man beneath him. Slowly, he lifted himself up, freeing Voldemort from heavenly torture and lay down next to him.

"We can sleep," he said, curling up on his side to spoon against the trembling form. "After all, we have forever..."

Lord Voldemort closed his eyes and slipped his arm around Harry, forcing a weak smile. "Right… forever."

* * *

Minister of Magic Draco Malfoy sat forward in bed, yawning and stretching upwards. His fingers touched the beams of warm light passing through the parted drapes. He grimaced as he tasted his own breath, speculating vaguely about the last time he had actually brushed his teeth. Something had woken him up; he just couldn't put his finger on it. He frowned and flopped down against the firm mattress, very intent on falling back asleep.

A sharp knock pounded into the room, giving him a start. "Wake up! The sun is up, Draco. We can begin working again."

"Are you for bloody-fucking real, Remus?!" yelled Draco, glowering at the door. "If I don't get at least two hours of sleep, my brain ceases to function! Go outside and chase some villagers around! I knew my mother left you for a reason… You never let her sleep!"

Remus leaned against the door, pressing his forehead into the wood. "But we're so close..." he murmured through the door. "And I have really, really good news!"

"It better be very, very good, you old wolf,"

"It is! The Aurors found Wormtail this morning in the underground. They're bringing him here this afternoon."

"They found Pettigrew!?" Draco sat up quickly, feeling as if someone threw a bucket of ice water over him. He pulled his wand free from underneath his pillow and pointed it at the door. "Come in!"

"I knew that would get you up," said Remus, strolling into the darkened room and looking slightly proud. He tossed Draco a pair of socks and trousers from his wardrobe. "His rat-form couldn't hide him forever. Shacklebolt and Tonks got a decent tip two nights ago, went down into the sewers under King's Cross and petrified all the rats. They used the restoring spell on every single one until they found him."

Draco peeled the trousers off from around his neck where they landed. "Wonderful! I can't wait to see his face. I'd like to smash it up after we squeeze all the information out of him"

Remus nodded. "Normally, as your personal assistant and Ambassador of the Order of the Phoenix, I would have to object to that sort of action. But… I think we've both earned a bit of torture time, don't you?"

Fully dressed, Draco walked over to his full-length mirror to survey his appearance. He smoothed his hair and tied it back. "If he confirms the information my father told us, we'll have the go-ahead to begin testing that magic. I just know he's alive, Remus. I can feel it!" He turned to his second in command and smiled, the obsessive hope sparkled in his grey eyes.

* * *

'CRASH!'

"Son of a--" Lord Voldemort huffed as he looked down at the broken vases scattered across the floor. His eyes narrowed as he shifted them to the door. "Oh, come on, get it over with!"

Within seconds, Harry threw the door open, mimicking the angry glare looking back at him. "I knew you'd come back and try it again. You couldn't resist another go!"

"You're sabotaging the wardrobe so I can't use it now?" shouted Voldemort. "Wasn't it bad enough you camped out in front of it for a week the last time you 'discovered me' touching it? I happen to keep my clothing in here!"

Harry stepped into the room, tiptoeing over the shards of violet crystal. He stopped directly in front of the taller man, looking quite daunting. "I moved your clothes into my room, remember?"

Voldemort smirked back at him. "I left my favourite tie in there" He crossed his arms over his chest heatedly, daring Harry to keep the argument up.

"You're wearing a jumper. What do you need a tie for?" Harry pointed out roughly, jabbing his index finger repeatedly against his lover's torso. Voldemort backed up a few paces, crunching glass under the soles of his shoes. Harry advanced, turning beet-red in the face. "And don't tell me for another time, either. You haven't worn a tie in months."

Growing overly frustrated, Voldemort dropped his arms down to his sides and balled up his fists. "Oh, I don't believe this. Why don't you just come out and say what you're trying to say... You think I came in here to use the magic to leave here. Is that right?"

Harry nodded sharply. "Yes, that's exactly right"

Voldemort shoved his hands into his pockets, fearing if he didn't he might lash out in some way. As well as they along, these arguments over power were growing in numbers. He felt his own cheeks burning with aggravation and anger, standing there listening to Harry chastise him with each passing second.

"--and I'll tell you something else. If you try it again, you can sleep alone! You got that, Voldemort? I'm warning you right now. This is not a request!" Harry whirled around to stomp off, but stopped as he looked down at the glass scattered across the floor. He was surrounded by the jagged shards, but had somehow managed to avoid stepping on them on his way in.

"Need some help?" said Voldemort, smirking in triumph. "I could help you-"

"No thanks!" snapped Harry. He leapt over the glass and landed safely near the doorframe. "You remember what I said. You'll destroy the wardrobe somehow if you keep playing with it, I know it."

Voldemort flinched at the sound of the door slamming. "Bloody hag. Fine-FINE! I'll just wither away and die, and then you'll die and everything we have is gone forever! Fucking sod it…"

* * *

Flipping back pieces of sweat-covered sandy fringe blurring his vision, Remus bit down on his chewing gum, snapping tiny bubbles of air trapped inside. Draco shuddered involuntarily, hating each smacking sound his partner was filling his ears with.

"Spit it out," he ordered, holding his hand out in front of his face.

Remus shrugged uncaringly and spit the wad into his hand. He returned his attention back to the various texts littering the desk, scanning the words written down in Latin. A moving blueprint of a small house lit up from beneath the scattered papers, giving him a fright.

"Someone's used the wardrobe again," he commented, swiping the papers away from the blueprint.

Without looking up from the book he was holding, Draco sighed. "Let's just hope its Harry. I can't stand the thought of Voldemort being trapped inside of that place."

"You have to consider that one of them died during the dimensional shift, Draco," said Remus as delicately as possible. "It's clearly written out that their world can only support the souls of two wizards. It could very well be Dumbledore and Voldemort in there, as it was intended to be. And after more than two years… I can't imagine what's been going on there."

Draco shook his head sternly. "He's alive. Don't ever think any different. He and Dumbledore probably killed him the moment they landed." He was absolutely obsessed with the will to rescue Harry. All other duties were a distant second, especially this strange new relationship with Remus.

Not wanting to start that old debate up again, Remus kept his mouth shut and picked up a quill to begin working on opening a portal once more. "We can shift the balance to support four wizards, but the portal will be very unstable. We'll literally have to run in and drag them out as fast as we can."

"And that's your brilliant plan?" Draco looked up, chuckling and shaking his head. "We are doomed. Doesn't matter, we're going in as soon as it's possible. We'll have to keep it hush-hush. I doubt the wizarding world would like knowing their elected Minister of Magic is going off on a dangerous mission to save Harry Potter."

"Ha, elected. Very funny," Remus dropped his head on Draco's shoulder, nuzzling his neck. "And that's why we go together, love. I won't allow anything to happen to you."

Draco tickled his chin with the tips of his fingers. "Aren't you my sweet, little werewolf?"

* * *

Lord Voldemort slipped quietly into the kitchen. His fingers twitched over the bottle in his pocket as a sound rang out in the hall. Waiting for anything, he stood frozen in place for a moment, before relaxing with a heavy sigh. Quickly, he grabbed a glass from the cupboard and set it down on the preparation table.

Again, he paused, listening to the silence around him. Only when he was certain he would not be disturbed, did he act. His hand sipped back into his trousers, pulling the small glass bottle free. He unscrewed the lid and shook four tablets into his palm. They quickly fell into the bottom of the glass. The bottle disappeared back into his pocket ad he reached into the crisper, grabbing the pitcher of Harry's pumpkin juice.

He filled the glass and swirled it around, watching the pills begin to dissolve. A look - something between sinister and guilty - crossed his face. Old ways never truly disappear. Cunning deception, the Slytherin way he always prided himself on, forced his actions. He bit down on his tongue as hard as he could to suppress everything. Harry must never know what was going on in his head.

He glanced down at his hand holding the glass, seeing the veins and liver spots that had begun to emerge, spreading like disease over his precious flesh. The look on his face shifted into worry then. He hated turning into what he had worked so hard to avoid. He was stymied day after day by the one person he wanted to stay young for. At least he had the sleeping pills, giving him scant moments of time to continue his work. But it was only a matter of time before Harry would put an end to it.

And time was definitely not on his side anymore.

If Harry had noticed any change over the last year, he hadn't mentioned it. Harry appeared exactly as he looked when he arrived. His wild hair hadn't grown an inch. His skin remained golden. His eyes still held their youthful joy. He never woke up coughing, gasping for air, as Voldemort found himself doing more often than not.

He ran his fingers through his greying hair as he inched closer to the den. He knew he'd find his lover there, sitting stupidly oblivious in front of the fire. It was as if his eyes were tinted with the colour of rose, seeing nothing wrong with a thing going on around them. He resented the boy for this, hating him for being so goddamned optimistic.

"Here you go." he said, handing the goblet to the young man splayed out on the overstuffed couch.

Harry looked up from his book and smiled warmly. "Cheers, darling," He sipped it and retuned his nose to the page he was reading.

Voldemort poured himself a very stiff drink and downed it quickly. The pills, a gift from the wardrobe, were very potent. He'd taken a couple the evening before to test them and in less than a minute he had fallen fast asleep. Four would certainly knock Harry out quickly, and for a seriously long time.

Draining his goblet, Harry set it down on the floor and leaned back into the couch. Within a minute, his book slipped from his fingers and fell into his lap. "Something's wrong," he murmured. He pulled off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling dizzy and off balanced. "I don't… feel…" He stood on wobbly legs and collapsed unconscious into his lover's awaiting arms.

Voldemort took a heaving breath. "I'm so sorry," he whispered as he placed him back on the couch.

As fast as he could, he darted back to his wardrobe. There had to be a way to release the liquid from the Philosopher's Stone. Carefully removing it from around his neck, he rested it on a small pillow inside on a shelf and closed the doors.

* * *

Draco glanced back at his desk as a noisy alarm set off. Someone was using the wardrobe again. He looked back into the fireplace and frowned. "I'm afraid I must cut this short. An unexpected emergency has popped up and I really have to deal with it. Can we speak again sometime this week?"

The head hovering within the emerald flames nodded. "Minister Malfoy, the Order of the Phoenix is forever in your debt. Oh, and good luck with whatever you're planning. If you need anything, please do not hesitate to ask."

"Thanks, Severus. I might."

Remus threw open the door and rushed inside. "I heard it! It's time!"

Draco pulled on his cloak, checking his pockets for everything he'd need. "I'm ready, you?"

"We'd better hurry. The preparation takes loads of time, but we've definitely proven the theory about the link with the wardrobe. I can have them open by tonight," Remus rolled the blueprints up and placed it into his robes. "Everything is set and ready. Let's do it."

* * *

He hadn't remembered crying before. Tears were not something he dealt with. Never had emotion swept over him as heavily as it was now, tearing at his heartstrings in bittersweet irony. Lord Voldemort always got what he wanted. He wanted to be powerful, he wanted to rule the wizarding world, and he wanted Harry. Having accomplished every single goal he'd set out to do, the smallest obstacle in front of him escaped his brilliant mind.

He wanted to live. He had always sought immortality, but even a few extra years to spend with his lover would suffice now. Every prayer and incantation he tried on the wardrobe had failed. Pleading with it didn't work either. It had been more than eight hours without a break that he worked on it, and finally, with a guttural moan torn from his throat, Lord Voldemort grasped his precious gem and placed it back around his neck in defeat.

"Voldemort…" The soft voice in his ear wrenched at his soul. Harry sounded so weak and drained, yet managed to find him anyway. He turned his head to see the young man cling to the frame of the door, looking indescribably miserable.

He got up and walked to him, circling his arms around his waist. "I'm sorry, Harry. I had to try one last time. If it would have worked… well, it didn't. It doesn't matter. We'll just spend the remainder of our time together and make the most of it," Harry's head fell back. He was still under heavy influence and could barely move from the exertion of making his way to the room. "I'm going to put you back--"

A sharp noise rang out in the hall. The source and direction were unclear. Voldemort hefted Harry up and stepped into the hallway. The sound was definitely unnatural. Another piercing crack filled the air, sending the man into defensive retreat. Moving backwards into his room, he threw Harry over his shoulder and grabbed his old wand resting on his night table.

Of course it didn't work, but it felt safe to have it nonetheless.

* * *

"Oh my god," Remus knelt down next to the mummified body lying in the dead centre of the room. He looked up at Draco and grimaced. "It's definitely Dumbledore. It looks like he's been dead for a very long time."

Draco shivered with optimism. He tossed his cloak back and drew his wand as he looked over the three doors surrounding him. "How long do we have?"

Remus looked down at his watch. "Ten minutes left before the portals close and we're trapped inside. Which door should we try?"

"You pick."

Unfolding the blueprints, Remus traced a finger over the lines. "Okay, the one in front of you is closest to the wardrobe. The other two on our sides appear to be the exit portals. There's a large room that leads to a long hallway. The wardrobe is down there, in the first room on the right."

Remus tucked the blueprints in his trousers. "If one of them is alive, then both of them are. I must enforce how important it is to keep yourself and both of them alive. If any of us die in here, we'll all die."

"Nine minutes left," said Draco, placing his hand on the brass handle of the door. "Good luck, old friend."

"Yes," said Remus, stepping up behind him, "Good luck."

* * *

"Come on, Harry, wake up!" It was useless. Lord Voldemort dropped him on the bed, fearing his strength might not hold up for much longer. Someone was in there with them, in their home. The noisy creaks and shifting of magic pulled at pushed him in every direction. If he could find where the source was coming from, he would know how to escape. He looked back at the barely conscious young man lying on the bed. He bent down and brushed his lips over his forehead. "I'll be right back to get you."

Confused as to what was happening, Harry groaned and rolled over onto his side to watch him leave. "Where are you going?" he said, but the words barely made a sound. Something was not quite right. The fuzziness in his head swirled rational thought. The blurry room arced in and out of focus. He reached up and touched his face, finding his glasses missing. He'd have to find them if he was going to get to the bottom of this strange mystery.

With great effort, Harry stumbled into the hallway. The physical exhaustion blackened his vision. He felt himself slide down the wall and land on his bum. "Voldemort?" he cried out, tensing at the bizarre bumps and jars resounding all around.

"Harry? Oh, oh god, Harry…" Harry looked up as a shadowy figure loomed overhead, blotting out the lights from the ceiling. "You're alive!"

"Voldemort!" he shouted louder, panicked by the excited tone in the cloaked man's voice.

Strong hands gripped his wrists and pulled him up to his feet. Warm breath touched his lips. Harry faltered in his arms as the last of his strength gave out. "It's me, Harry. It's Draco."

"Draco…" he whispered, looking once more at the man holding him against the wall for support. His sharp, elfish features became clear. Harry felt his knees buckle. "Oh, you magnificent bastard--What took you so long?"

"We've got ages to talk, love," he whispered excitedly, feeling a wave of blissful tears threatening to spill out. "But right now I need to know where Voldemort is."

"I'm right here," Draco spun around, losing his grasp on Harry. There, directly behind him, stood the Dark Lord. "Mr. Malfoy. How kind it was of you to open the portal for us."

His presence was still as daunting as ever, but Draco managed to throw up a sneer. "We're here to take you both out. Help me lift him up."

Voldemort scowled back at him. "Are you? You might want to back away from Harry and go check on your werewolf friend in the sitting room. He's had an unfortunate accident."

Draco blanched. "Look, we don't much time. The portal will close in four minutes. We all have to leave or we all die!" He reached out, gripping Harry's arm. "Now help me—"Stars popped in his eyes as a solid blow to his nose sent him reeling. The back of Draco's head thumped against the wall and everything went black.

Bending next to the crumpled form on the floor, Voldemort heaved Harry up and wrapped his arms around his waist. "I'm sure you're right, Malfoy, but I think Harry and I will take our leave first. Now, if you'll excuse us…"

"Don't do this," Harry dragged his nails along the wall as he was forced to move. "They won't make it out on time!"

Lord Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "You think I'm so cold…" In truth, he could have left them both without a second thought. It would be so easy. But he knew Harry would never forgive him if he did.

"Please don't leave them!" cried Harry. He kicked and struggled to break free, but his energy was far from restored.

Passing the unmoving lump of Remus on the ground, Voldemort wrestled Harry up into his arms with everything he had. Not much time left he assumed, hearing a constant, pounding tick sound out from the watch strapped to the Ambassador's wrist. The portals glimmered with life through the resurfaced door. He moved to the right, side-stepping the corpse of Albus Dumbledore and shoved Harry away from him as hard as he could.

* * *

Falling hard on his back, Harry arched up in desperate need for air. He dug his nails into the grass under his hands as pained shock rippled though his body. He looked up into the blue sky, squinting to watch the swirling, smoky gateway flicker overhead. "Come on!" he cried. "Come on out!"

It felt like an eternity to watch and wait. Merely two minutes later, the portal's power began to lessen. Harry got to his feet, reaching up as far as he could. It was so far away, completely untouchable.

A flicker of light crackled, the sound of it bellowed deep as thunder. The portal began to implode, curling inward. "NO!" he screamed. He jumped as high as he could, knowing it was no use, and fell to the ground as his knees buckled on impact. And then the sound of something very large hitting the ground very hard beside him caught his breath.

Harry scrambled over to the mass of black material and flipped it over. Long arms stretched out and circled his neck. "Oh, god… Where's Remus?" whimpered Draco, holding onto his old friend for dear life.

The portal exploded, sending shards of sparks raining down over the two men. "I… I don't think he made it." His heart hurt so greatly. His eyes refused to leave the sky. He wanted to feel badly for Remus, truly he did… but it wasn't Remus who pained him so, crippling the insides of him that willed his need to live.

"No, Harry, he did make it out. He went out before I did. Voldemort shoved me through the portal right after him," Draco stood up and dusted himself off. He looked around the barren landscape of the Holy Ground but saw no one. "I wonder when they landed."

"They?" Harry felt his broken heart begin to thump once more. "They both made it?"

"I can only assume… But the portal was closing so fast. He might not have," Draco grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet. "C'mon, let's get back to the Ministry and see if Remus is there. Hold on to me very tightly." He drew his wand and grappled Harry against him. With a booming 'crack', they both disapparated from the land.

_

* * *

_


	5. Chapter 5

"_Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Great men are almost always bad men."_

_Lord Acton, 1887_

The Space Between

Chapter 5

The story could hardly end here, even with the hero returned safe and sound. Sure, there had been a cease fire called years before. The good and the bad held off on their destruction, for the time being. The wizarding world was intact once more. Order had been restored and life began to flourish. Sounds wonderful…

Remus Lupin had indeed escaped and made his way back to the Ministry. He sported a vivid black eye and a harrowing tale to tell about the rescue of Harry Potter from the jaws of the greatest, most feared wizard their time had known. What he didn't know, however, was whether old Voldemort escaped through the portal behind him. The last thing he remembered was watching his own body being pushed backward by the Dark Lord himself, effectively saving his life.

Harry was admitted to St. Mungo's immediately upon reaching the Ministry building for healing and evaluation. He was released in a week. He was returned within another for a round of Shock Spells to help combat the insanity he had obviously incurred. This pattern would become quite familiar to him.

Six months passed without any incident of dark underlying or any proof that Voldemort ever escaped. Not a single sighting could be authenticated, and he was officially pronounced dead. And with that, Harry's life lost all meaning. Forced to live between Draco and his private wing in the hospital, the man who once radiated with life was reduced to a shell - filled with pent up anger.

Draco's intensions were good. He truly believed Harry was his to protect, and protect him he would. He adored, obsessed, and even worshipped him. It was difficult keeping Harry out of Azkaban. His reckless nature was untrained for peaceful times. He had lost all desire to conform and was constantly getting into fights and shouting matches with just about anyone who happened to look at him the wrong way.

* * *

Harry glanced at his watch. "We should go," He kicked Draco's leg under the table and pointed to his watch. "You see what time it is?" The popping flash bulbs and endless chatter throughout the amphitheatre irritated him to no end. For so long he had sat in serene quiet, only now to be barraged daily by reporters and fans wanting a story or an autograph.

"For the seventh time--Shut. The. Fuck. Up." Draco whispered. His lip curled in a sneer. "I can't leave in the middle of McLaggen's speech and not be plastered all over the media tomorrow. You promised me you'd sit here without whining. Don't make a scene."

Poor, poor Harry Potter… He should have died in the war. Everyone believed his sad, pathetic life was created for a specific reason: Destroy their time's dark wizard and die a martyr. These two things had never happened, so his torn soul hovered somewhere between hopeless drunk and trophy-wife, neither of which he cared to be.

Harry gulped down his drink and slammed his glass on the table. "Fucking stupid… I hate these things," he whispered and winced, feeling Draco's nails dig deeply into his arm.

"Did you take those pills I laid out for you? Course not, you little son-of-a-bitch. And don't give me that look… They're watching. You've got to try and act the part, remember what I said… smile and wave," Draco was very good at keeping appearances. No one could hear his and Harry's arguments, and a dazzling smile was always in place. "Oh, look- There's my mum. "Hullo, darling!"

Narcissa faked a smile as she passed their table and clutched Remus's arm tightly as he attempted to wave. "Not smiling. Going to go outside for a fag then," said Harry. He stood up and left as Draco waved a hand of indifference.

Standing on the balcony of the Ministry Amphitheatre, Harry took a long drag off of a cigarette and leaned over the railing to watch the fountain below. At first, he was alone, but that didn't last long. Several curious wizards and witches followed him out, all with the intent of either staring at his scar or irking him into a fight. It was something that had become commonplace for him and Draco since his return.

Everyone knew Harry Potter had been trapped with the Dark Lord for over two years, and most thought he'd gone mad. And now, as the Minister of Magic's little cherry-boy, he was always in the papers. His face made the front page at least once a week.

"Hey, are you really Harry Potter?"

Harry tossed his cigarette over the balcony and crossed his arms on the railing. Looking absolutely dazzling in his tuxedo, all of the witches standing around him swooned.

"So what's it like to get shagged in the arse by both the Dark Lord _and_ the Minister?" The young man stood behind him now, poking his fingers at Harry's shoulder. "The Chosen Queer… I heard you can't have a wand, that true?"

Harry turned around and looked him up and down. "Who are you and why do you want me to bust out your front teeth?" he said calmly. "Nice teeth… such a shame." The boy couldn't have been more than seventeen years old. His friends pooled around him and egged him on. And Harry had grown so tired of this repetitive bullying that always came up every time Draco dragged him along to one of these things. Without thinking, he balled up his fist and popped the boy in the mouth.

He was arrested two minutes later.

* * *

A medi-witch bustled down the hall and slid into the waiting room, completely dishevelled and out of breath. "Minister Malfoy, there's been some problems. Dr. Richards would ask that you come back immediately."

Draco folded up his magazine and tossed it in the air. "What in the hell is going on here? Why can't you people control him?" he said, stomping back towards Harry's room with a look of disgust. "I am paying exorbitant amounts of money on these treatments and all I get back is more trouble."

"I'm sorry, sir," she whimpered.

Shoving the double doors open to Harry's wing, loud shouting and clinking metal pierced through Draco's ears. Dr. Richards, newly assigned to his friend's care, ran up and tapped a quill repeatedly over a release form he waved in Draco's face. "This man is completely mad! I cannot control his actions without your full consent. I've discussed this with his former caregiver and he's in total agreement!"

Harry couldn't keep a doctor for more than a week. All of them resigned their duties of him out of frustration and injuries.

Draco grabbed the quill and scratched his name over the thin line on the bottom of the page. "Fine, just make him better." He continued on until reaching the end of the hallway.

"Stop it!" he cried, stepping quickly into Harry's room and rushing over to aid the three orderlies wrestling the Boy-Who-Lived down over his bed. All four of them looked beaten up and frazzled. "Goddamn you, Harry! Stop fighting!" Each man grabbed a limb, hoisted him up onto the mattress, and shackled him down with leather restraints.

"He bwoke my nose," the smallest orderly cried, swiping the blood off of his top lip.

Harry cackled. Draco seethed and slapped him hard across the face. "GET OUT!" he ordered, and all three men hustled to the door.

He climbed on the bed and straddled over Harry, placing his hands on either side of his head to hold it straight. "You stupid twat, do you know what you've done to my career tonight?!"

"Get the fuck off me," hissed Harry. He twisted his wrists around in the cuffs with the desire to slap Draco back. "Malfoy, I want out of this place right now, and if you don't get me out I swear to Merlin I will never speak to you again…"

Draco paled. "Don't talk like that. You know I love you," He leaned in, grazing his lips over Harry's nose, placing a tiny kiss on the tip. Harry's angered expression softened somewhat. Draco's lit up playfully. He found himself rocking over his lap and pointing his wand at the door to lock it. "Come on, tell me you love me. Don't you miss this?"

Harry gritted his teeth and groaned in pain. "Stop, stop. It's not going to work. I've got punched in the stomach too many times tonight. Please, it hurts."

"You did?" Draco looked him over more carefully then, and he was, in fact, very bruised and swollen on just about every part of his body. "I'll send the doctor in, I've got to go though," He hopped off the bed and pulled a duvet up to his chest. "And, Harry… they wouldn't have to do that if you'd just cooperate."

"Right. They never start the fights. I'm always jumping on these blokes who outweigh me and carry weapons. I'm so mental like that…" He watched Draco back up towards the door and knew that the instant he left, those three orderlies would return to teach him another lesson. His features twisted into something more timid than angry. "Are you really leaving right now?"

"I have a press conference in an hour. I get the honour of explaining to everyone why you hit that boy," Draco smirked and unlocked the door. "I'll be back after work tomorrow. Try not to hurt anyone else while I'm gone."

Harry suppressed an unexpected urge to beg him to stay. "Right."

* * *

Draco paced back and forth in front of the door, arms crossed, livid look about him. Each time Harry attempted to stand, the Minister's arms would unfold and a wand would be pointed at his heart. "Sit down!" Each time Harry sat back into his chair the motions would repeat.

"It's probably not true anyway. Why can't I just see for myself?" It was like talking to a brick wall. Harry nibbled at the dry skin on his bottom lip, eager to check out a very solid tip the Ministry had been given about an apparent Voldemort sighting. "You'd think you'd want to know if it were true… You, being the leader and all, if you even care about anyone else but yourself… but you don't, so whatever. I'll just sit in misery while you guard the door, I guess…"

"Yeah, you will. And shut up while you're at it!" The urge to leap onto his chair and beat the ever-loving piss out of him had become harder to resist. Draco knew his mind had snapped at some point the night before, shortly after Harry's first attempt at leaving his home. The thought of him running back to Voldemort, if he was indeed alive, was literally tearing him apart.

Harry fished for a smile, hoping to lighten the mood a notch. Draco pointed his wand at him. The smiled faded quickly. "Can I at least see the memos about it?'

Draco gawked at him. "No!"

"Why?"

The indescribably inconsiderable lack of compassion over Draco's broken heart finally pushed him over the line. He charged in and kicked out, planting his foot between Harry's thighs and connecting with the seat of the chair, toppling it backwards. "BECAUSE I SAID SO!"

Harry plummeted to the ground. His head bounced off the brick hearth behind him. "You wouldn't be so fucking brave without that wand. Toss it away and let me smash your goddamn face in!" He fumbled around on the floor to stand despite the sudden fog hazing his vision. He rubbed the back of his aching head and looked at his hand. It was coated with fresh blood. "Lovely, thanks for that."

Guilt withstanding, Draco continued his threats. "That's the least of your worries. You make one move for the door---you won't walk for a month. Just try me," He wanted to be gentle, wishing he could hold Harry in his arms and kiss his wound better… but the ex-hero had turned on him weeks before. Instead, he let the aggravation simmer over Harry's obsession with finding Voldemort and the seriously small amount of sexual contact between them.

Harry walked over and wiped his hand off on Draco's sleeve. "That makes a mess, eh? Hope that shirt's not terribly expensive. Looks expensive. Hmm,"

He ignored the taunt. The amount of blood seeping down along Harry's neck drew his attention. Draco leaned around to take a closer look, cringing. "We should have that looked at, I guess."

"Fuck, Draco, I'm sorry," said Harry, covering his wound. The colour drained from his face. He couldn't bear the thought of going back to St. Mungo's again so soon. "It's a small cut. I'll just put some ice on it."

Draco shook his head. "No. It's deep, bleeding too much. Change your shirt."

Harry felt his hands begin to tremble. He slowly began to realise how deathly afraid he was becoming of the hospital… and of Draco. As he pulled his shirt over his head, he swallowed hard. "And we're just going to get this looked at… You're not still angry, are you?"

He was. He was so angry and hurt that no amount of pleading would change his mind. "I think you need some time alone for a while. Get your thoughts together about what's most important to you," he said blankly, staring off at the floor.

"Are you serious? Draco, don't send me back. Come on… I'm really sorry."

Draco took his arm and walked to the door. "I don't care if you're sorry," he said, holding his wand up the moment they crossed the wards. "Get this stupid idea out of your head. He's not coming back, or he would have by now. I'm the only one who's willing to take you in and I do my damndest to make you happy, but you don't care. So I don't care. Or do you care?"

Harry looked at the ground, unwilling to answer.

"Fine." he snapped. Gripping Harry's arm as hard as he could, he apparated them both to the boundaries of the hospital. Another round of Shock Spells would eventually quell this behaviour; the medi-wizards had assured him of that.

* * *

A new month brought two more arrests and another stay at the hospital. Draco added the numbers up in his head. Twelve stays at St. Mungo's, sixteen nights in Azkaban, and three court hearings. This did not bode well for his career.

He was watched constantly by all factions, any strings he attempted to pull for Harry were immediately published. His hands were tied. And for this reason alone, two of the three factions (The Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry) had taken advantage of this weakness and exploited him and Harry for all it was worth. Certain Harry was hiding critical information; they set out to retrieve it. A pity...

Sitting on a small chair, fidgeting with his tie, Harry felt like a complete fool. Forced to recount the past once more in front of the same two relentless judges on trumped up charges, he had come to the decision that living in this world without a purpose was definitely not for him.

Nudging him in the ribs, Draco jerked his head toward the courtroom. "They're calling you," he whispered.

Harry stood up and walked out into the open space, glaring at the Ministry personnel and ignoring the gossiping audience that had filled all of the seats. "Fuck the both of you. I haven't done anything wrong." he growled. Percy Weasley and Marietta Edgecombe were sitting behind the bench, swaying their heads in sadness.

"I'm aware that you believe that, Mr. Potter. There are some questions we'd like to ask you though," She shuffled through her paperwork for a moment until Percy handed her the list she'd been searching for. "Ah, yes, thanks. Anyway, a case had been filed by a man who claimed you unjustly hexed him just outside of the Holy Ground on December the eighth, at approximately seven in the morning. There is another here who asserts you terrorised his family on March the twelfth, late into the evening, with a broomstick and your wand.

"Mr. Potter, these are just two of many crimes you are being accused of. We're seriously considering reopening the war crimes file if you cannot control yourself. I know this seems pointless and unfounded to you, The Chosen One, but we need answers. Lord… You-Know-Who had many underground spies. Let's start with that. We need those names!"

Harry looked back in befuddlement at Draco, who cringed and shrugged at his friend in helplessness. "Some Minister of Magic you are," he grumbled. He looked back at the judges in anger. "I don't have the pleasure of owning a broomstick or a wand. You two have made sure of that. And I have no idea who his spies were. I've told you this before."

Percy stood from his seat and began to walk around the bench. In his hand was a small potion bottle. He twirled it between his finger and thumb as he and two very intimidating-looking Aurors encircled the Boy-Who-Lived. Harry looked at each one before returning his eyes to the familiar looking phial. "We are prepared to get this information out of you by any means necessary, Mr. Potter, and that includes Veritaserum," The men on each side of him grabbed one of Harry's arms. Percy pointed to the chair behind them, the arms covered in chains. "Put him in the chair."

Craning to look again at his friend, Harry found both men he struggled with to be about as strong as any man could possibly be. He was easily shoved into the chair without any effort on their part. The now animated chains began to glow gold, winding around Harry's arms.

"I don't see why this is necessary!" shouted Draco. He clamoured over the rows of seats to reach them.

Percy snapped his fingers and Marietta scrambled over the papers in front of her again. She jumped up - holding one of them in her hand - and raced it over to the enlarging group. "Minister, this is your signature, is it not?"

"Oh, hell," he groaned, reading the parchment he'd signed back at the hospital over very carefully. He rested his hand on Harry's shoulder and cringed. "I'm so sorry. I haven't had any sleep and these things all start to look alike after a while…"

Harry gasped. "You signed my fucking rights away?!" One of the guards grabbed up a handful of jet-black hair. Harry's head was jerked back at an awkward angle, forcing him to watch the bottle being dangled over his face.

The whispering crowd's voices grew louder. No matter how nasty their government claimed him to be, no matter how many times he'd been arrested or locked up in St. Mungo's, he would always be a celebrity to them. A handful of hooded men and women sat quietly in the back of the room, unwilling to join in on the excitement of the spectacle they were witnessing.

Yanking at the magical chains holding him in the chair, Harry groaned as Percy pried his jaws apart. Marietta waved her wand to muffle the ears of the crowd, so that they were unable to hear anything else being said on the courtroom floor. The three men and two women in the back row got up from their seats and left as quietly as they'd come, without anyone noticing them at all.

* * *

Draco attempted to close the window the moment he saw the owls hovering around outside. "Too many owls to be good news… No, go away now, come back later!" he shouted, shooing the aggressive birds back. Within a minute or so, the owls began to fly off, giving the man a scant moment of peace.

"They're getting in through the kitchen," Draco snapped his attention over to Harry. It was the first time he'd heard him speak since the courtroom incident. He sat down on the edge of the bed. A cigarette dangled from his lips and a glass of rum balanced on his knee. His eyes were cast down over a piece of parchment he was reading.

Four owls managed to breach the small opening of the kitchen window and land on the perch in the nook. "I guess I'll see what the others say," murmured Draco.

"Don't bother," said Harry, looking up from the bed. His face held no emotion, but his words seemed pained. "I'm going to be arrested again today. The Order of the Phoenix has taken liberties of that loophole you burned me with."

Draco sighed. "I'm so sorry. What's it say?"

"Get me another, will you?" Harry jiggled his glass in Draco's direction, but continued to refuse him eye contact. He took it and headed to the kitchen. Three owls remained, and all held their messages out as Draco passed by. Casually, he relieved them of their deliveries and moved on to the cupboard.

_Minister Malfoy,_

_Do not allow Harry Potter to leave your premises until further notice. His escort will arrive this afternoon at two. Thank you for your understanding and non-interference._

_Alastor Moody,_

_The Order of the Phoenix _

He grabbed a bottle and refilled the glass as he read the second and third letter over. Both were similar to the first. Harry would be placed under the Imperious Curse and have his memories extracted. All of them. This procedure would continue until complete.

* * *

Looking at the clock, Draco began to worry. Harry's escort would be arriving shortly. As badly as he felt about putting him through another unpleasant experience, he felt worse over the love lost because of it. Whatever future he and Harry might have shared, he had single-handedly destroyed in less than seven months.

"Come on, Harry," he said, entering the bathroom. He pulled back the curtain slowly and cringed. Harry was on the floor hugging his knees into his chest, sitting under fat steams of ice-cold water. He shivered uncontrollably but refused to stand up, despite several prodding endeavours.

"I can try to fight off the curse… but even if I manage it, how long can I hold out? They'll know everything," Draco turned off the taps and draped a towel around his shoulders. Harry's head dropped over his knees.

Draco sat down next to him. "I know this is my fault. You don't deserve any of this. For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

Harry leaned on his shoulder and smiled. "I'm tough. It'll be all right," he said, not believing himself. He hadn't felt as weak as he did since he was a child. Draco wrapped an arm around his shoulders and Harry moulded into him. "And I'm sorry for being such a pain in the arse."

"Yeah, but you're a really gorgeous pain in the arse, so all is forgiven," He kissed the top of Harry's head and then helped him stand, hearing a persistent pounding coming from the front of the house. "I love you, Harry. I know you don't love me back. I'm okay with that now… I just wanted you to know."

He turned to leave, but Harry grabbed his arm. "Hey," he said, his voice hoarse and cracked, "Come on, you know I love you back."

Draco dropped his head on Harry's shoulder and they embraced, standing silent in the middle of the bathroom as three Aurors broke down their front door.

* * *

Draco eased into the small room, closing the door behind him as quietly as he could. He hadn't been allowed to visit until today, and was only given a short amount of time after threatening to start another war. "Hey, how are you?" Harry's vacant expression hadn't changed since he'd entered. His ashen skin was littered with deep bruises and scrapes. His cheeks were hollow. It was troubling to witness. "What the fuck did they do to you? Who did this?"

Draco fretted, looking at the cutting leather straps that kept the young man's arms and legs stretched taut to each corner of the hospital bed. He had been in that position for nearly a week for assaulting an official from the Order of the Phoenix. Spitting on Severus Snape while he was attempted to extract memories from him was a definite no-no it seemed. Retained by the Order's Aurors once more, he was shipped back to St. Mungo's so soften him up.

"Look, I've only got a few minutes before they try throwing me out. I had that contract burned this morning. As soon as I can get you out of here I'm going to take you to Ronald Weasley's home for a seriously long vacation."

Harry felt the very last of his substance crumble. Losing all self control after such a long battle, he began to cry. "Why are they doing this to me, Draco?"

"I don't know…" Draco climbed on the bed and curled into him. His heart had split in two. He had never seen Harry cry before. He had cursed the young man with the Cruciatus Curse three times in a row once. It hadn't come close to ripping the emotion from him then, as being in the hospital was now.

A rough-looking medi-witch entered the room. Ignoring the man on top of her patient, she set about her business of lining up all of the instruments needed for Harry's treatment. She held up a long wire and taped it to his temple. She repeated the action on the other temple, and then lodged a thick, rubber bit between his teeth. She jerked his head to the side, knotting its cords snugly at the nape of his neck to keep it in place.

Draco looked up at her in disgust. "Have you no decency, woman? Can't you see that he's upset?"

"Minister, these orders must be followed," she drawled, reading over the clipboard lying next to the bed. "Shock Spells every day for one solid month. He's not making this easy on himself. If he'd just listen to the orders, the treatments would be cut in half…"

Draco blinked several times, feeling dizzy. He dropped off the bed to jab his finger in her chest. "In no fucking way is he getting Shock Spells for a month! Get his doctor in here right now!" Harry began weeping openly; silent wails of guttural agony overcame his shredded dignity.

"The doctor will be in shortly. Good day, Minister." The medi-witch said, and left the room. Draco adjusted Harry's flimsy hospital gown over his torso, smoothing out the wrinkles. There was a rap at the door, and it opened again. An elderly, robust-looking man with frizzy, white hair and thick spectacles entered the room carrying a chart under his podgy arm. Two orderlies entered behind him.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Potter. I don't believe we've met," He bowed lightly to Draco before turning his eyes on the man strapped to the bed. "Famous, famous you are. You're such a celebrity. I'm so elated to finally meet you. I'm Dr. Tromldove. I've been assigned with this grim task - although I must say seeing your name on the chart made me a little overwhelmed – As it is, I'll be performing your Shock Spells today."

Harry moved his eyes away from him, back to Draco, hoping he'd have this stopped. Draco hadn't noticed; his own were scanning over the two men standing by the door. There was something off. Perhaps they were disguised, but he couldn't be sure as his attention was skewed by the violent struggle his friend was suddenly putting up beside him.

The doctor was retying the cords of the bit, forcing the rubber restraint to sink brutally into the corners of Harry's mouth. "Hey-- Not so rough!" cried Draco. "I can't allow this to happen. He's far too emotional right now. Take that goddamn thing out of his mouth."

"We don't want him to bite his tongue off, do we?" Satisfied with the perfect silence, the doctor observed Harry's hysterical fit, jotting notes on the clipboard. He cupped his chin, twisting the boy's head from side to side, smirking at the lack of retaliation. "Yes, so close to being broken. I'd venture to guess one or two more sessions will give the Order their desired results."

Draco stood frozen in awe. "I gave you an order, sir. Are you deaf?"

The fat man scoffed. "Currently, no. And I'm not about to have my eardrums burst when he starts screaming after the first shock hits him either. Awful thing to hear--really unpleasant. But I'm afraid the treatment will go forth unless you can provide a written document from the Order saying differently. You can do that, no?"

Draco slumped. His mouth opened and closed as the words escaped him. Harry was certainly not ready for-----An almost undetectable rustling scratched the floor beside the Minister. He turned to look at nothing but empty space. This was really getting to him. Harry was spacey and breathless as the doctor taped numerous electrodes to his body. Draco fumbled for words, merely whimpering as Harry looked up to him one last time with sorrow filled eyes.

Without looking up from his patient, the doctor clucked his tongue at the dithering man on the other side of the bed. "Perhaps this is too emotional for you, Minister. I'll have to ask you to leave."

"No, I'm not leaving," he said weakly.

"I insist." he replied through a sneer. He gripped Harry's chin again and wrenched his head back. The orderly next to him fired up his wand, sending threatening sparks flickering out into the room. "And I have authority here over the government. I cannot have you disrupting this session. Minister, will you kindly step outside, please? It will only take a few minutes."

Draco ran his fingers over Harry's temples, wiping the tear streaks away. "I'll be right back, love. I promise this will be the very last time. I'll have everyone's heads for this." He glared at the doctor as he backed away. The other orderly held the door for him as he walked out, leaving Harry to deal with his torture alone.

The moment the door closed, everyone dropped what they were doing and laughed in unison. Harry felt the mood of the room twist into a mysterious air. He looked up at the doctor, who loomed over him, ripping the electrical wires away. He trembled involuntarily. Something was different. These three men were not going about the normal procedure of Shock Spells… that was for damn sure.

Sausage-link fingers carded through his hair, plucking out several strands. He tensed up fully, balling his hands into fists. "Here you go, dear." The doctor held out the hair towards a vacant part of the room. Suddenly, a very feminine hand appeared over top of him out of thin air and grasped them. Harry flinched.

"Now, now, we haven't forgotten about you" A wand tip was jabbed into Harry's neck as both of the orderlies moved to the head and foot of the bed, untying the straps restraining him. The doctor traced his finger lightly over the gagging bit, mesmerized at how effectively it silenced the boy. "Magic is such a magnificent thing, isn't it, Harry? It can give - and take away so easily. I don't know how badly they've harmed you yet, but you look like a fucking corpse. Get him out of those things quickly, we're leaving."

An invisibility cloak pooled on the floor around Narcissa's feet. She grinned at the confused young man while sprinkling his hairs over a glass of Polyjuice Potion.

Harry's limbs were released and rebound with conjured rope. He looked on helplessly as the doctor nodded to the men, and then lifted him up into his arms. "Stay completely still, baby. Don't make me have to stun you, because that would simply break my heart…" The words swept across his cheek. As the two large men draped the invisibility cloak over them, it hit him hard, sending a more powerful jolt of electrical energy through his body than any Shock Spell could have.

The fat, old man cradling him in his embrace was Lord Voldemort.

* * *

The door opened slowly. Draco stood up from his waiting chair and watched the two orderlies exit. "I'm afraid the doctor had to leave on an emergency, but the session was completed. You may go in now."

"How…" He remembered then that medi-wizards were the only ones able to apparate and disapparate within the boundaries of St. Mungo's. Eagerly, he walked inside of the room.

"I hope it wasn't too awful. I'm so sorry, Harry."

"You should be, you sodding prick," he replied, turning his head to the side to avoid Draco's gaze. "Go away. I don't want you here."

"Gods, don't talk like that!" he cried. Again, he threw his weight over the young man, cuddling him, caressing his face. "I just love you so much… I… maybe I thought I could break these feelings you have… I just want you to love me the way you loved him."

"GET OFF!" he shrieked. "You stole Remus, and don't deny it, you little bastard! You took him from me and threw him away when you're little trophy was returned to you. He was mine! Oh god…. You are too much like your father…"

"Oh fuck… No, no, no---I don't believe it!" Draco backed away slowly. Harry flung the leather straps off and sat up, pointing a wand at the man. "Mum, don't start up with me again. Where is Harry!? I have to get him back!"

"You're not going anywhere! He's gone, Draco," she said. "My master lives once more and has taken back what was rightfully his."

The door behind them burst open. The scraggly medi-witch returned and snapped it shut behind her. Her body was changing before their eyes. The nurses uniform sagged down off of her shoulder, her black hair grew out in long, ratty strands. "I made it just in time! Oh, Draco, it's been too long," she said in a scratchy titter, sauntering up to his side. "Come give your auntie a big kiss."

"You, too?" He threw his arms up in defeat. "You both knew Voldemort was alive this whole time?"

"Come on, Minister… don't you miss it, even a little bit?" Bellatrix Lestrange cackled maniacally at her little nephew as she stroked his hair. "The power you had. You've lost that with the position you're in now. They're always watching you…"

Narcissa, still looking very much like Harry, changed out of her gown. "He's a louse. We should wipe his memory and make him move back in with Pansy."

Draco felt the space between close in on him. His mother and aunt backed him into a wall. Both of them brandished wands and wicked grins.

* * *

Harry was aware they had disapparated soon after sneaking out of the hospital ward. Other than that, he had no idea what was going on. He dug his nails into the starched lab coat covering Voldemort's shoulder and buried his face in his chest. The dreadful thought of being tortured again turned his stomach. Not one word had been uttered since their escape. For all he knew, he was falling out of the frying pan – into the fire.

Voldemort had not attempted to remove the restraints or console him. He moved stiffly through the unyielding area they had appeared. Tree branches and overgrown thatch sliced into Harry's bare limbs as the Dark Lord pressed on through the heavy forest.

After what seemed like forever, a light began to surface through the darkness. "There it is," he murmured, stopping to catch his breath. "We're home, Harry." Reenergised, he hauled the young man upward into a tight embrace and pushed forward.

As they reached the door, he shoved it open with his shoulder and crossed the threshold. Magical light shimmered around the frame. It washed over Harry, clinging to his skin. The power was undeniably intense, uplifting his dreary sense of hopelessness as he glanced around. They were in the sitting room he'd become so familiar with.

He was carried into the bedroom and laid out on the bed. His bedroom… This was his. Lord Voldemort sat beside him, sweeping his hair from his face as Harry dared to look up at him. Uncertainty clouded his eyes, but a reassuring smile grew on the handsome man's lips, soothing any thoughts of being punished any longer.

"You're not going to give me a problem, are you?" His Polyjuice'd form had long since reverted, and Harry awed at how youthful he appeared. As if time turned, bringing them back here to their world the very first day they had fallen. He shook his head quickly. "I didn't think so." Lord Voldemort pulled his wand out and waved it over the boy, dissipating his bonds. Harry took a deep, much-needed breath.

Trepidation kept him docile. He thought he could trust him, but he thought he could trust Draco too. "Would you like to sleep? I could run a warm healing-bath and clear up these cuts and bruises," His words lessened Harry's cold comfort wariness. He shrugged, unsure of what he really wanted.

He was so confused. This couldn't be the same house. The odd magical essence it held over them was missing, and the air was very crisp. Lord Voldemort was freely using magic. This wasn't really his room, but he didn't care.

Massaging his own sore muscles, Voldemort chuckled. "I think the bath. You're not as light as I remembered." Harry gave him a weak laugh as Voldemort helped him stand.

* * *

The life, the home, the perfection of magic had raised his hopes. Harry Potter was free from torment. Back in the arms of the long, lost dead, and away from the beasts who only meant for the best. His guise was solid, no guilt was felt. It was effortless to love the man, truly effortless now.

A shrill scream filled the room. Lord Voldemort sat up quickly, his wand clutched in his hand. Next to him, Harry covered his face with his pillow and rolled against his lover's side. "I'm sorry," he said in a hoarse drawl, "that won't happen again." He pressed his hand against Voldemort's chest and eased him back into bed.

"I should have left him in there," Voldemort murmured. He wrapped his arm around Harry. "He broke you."

"I'm fine. Just a nightmare,"

"I can take them away… make you forget what happened," It really wasn't a question of whether Harry wanted the memories to remain or not. Voldemort had contemplated this for a while, only stopping short of casting the memory-altering charm. A full week of relaxation had accomplished nothing. Harry was once a powerful killer of evil, now he was a twitchy ball of nerves who couldn't keep his nightmares at bay.

"Go back to sleep."

* * *

Business needed attending to. As much as he hated it, Voldemort had to leave again.

"Harry, I've got to go out for a while. I might not be back tonight," Lord Voldemort stepped into the hall from the bathroom, wrapping a towel around his hips. Harry poked his head out from the den and sighed. As much as he adored being back in the house, he hated when he was left alone. It was unplottable and tightly secured, but that wouldn't stop the impending anxiety of someone finding him.

"Do you know for certain you won't?" Voldemort walked into his bedroom to dress. "Tom, why won't you be back tonight?"

"Did you call me Tom?"

Harry grinned as he leaned against the frame of his bedroom door. "Maybe,"

"Such a common name," Voldemort adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves and straightened his tie out before peeling his gaze from the mirror over to his lover. "But, I digress. I'll really try and be back. You're perfectly safe here, you know that."

"I could go with you…" he suggested, knowing that request would be immediately denied.

"No."

"Thought I'd try…"

Voldemort stepped in front of him and clasped his hands on his shoulders. "If you're missing St. Mungo's that much, I'll tie you to the bed myself and shock you…"

Harry's eyes narrowed. "So I'm a prisoner, is that it? I suppose you'll be thinking of a way to take my magic next." He backed up a few paces, out of the room, and returned to the den for another drink.

"I wouldn't say the thought hadn't crossed my mind," Voldemort mused, looking away.

There were several reasons he would never allow Harry to leave in his condition. For one, Draco, having returned as his second in command, was still completely obsessed with finding him. It wasn't a matter of protecting Harry - it was also jealousy - pure, raw, devouring jealousy of the younger blond. He would never allow Harry and Draco to be alone together again. That was a near fatal mistake on his part the first time.

And, the fact that the war had resumed might just upset the former Auror a little too much. Lord Voldemort had taken Draco's position, given freely to him, as Minister of Magic. He hadn't wanted it, but the waves it stirred when it was first suggested… well, he couldn't pass that up.

His army was larger than ever. This new form of power he'd gained, this gift learned from the one man he held prisoner had worked like no other threat or spell; the power of love. He could rule the world manipulating this precious gift. Wizards and witches switched sides day by day faster than he could count. This great wizard was now truly a great wizard.

* * *

He returned that evening, although it was very late into the night. Voldemort entered his home and knew immediately something was very wrong. Desperate cries rang out, calling his name. His heart began to pound as he rushed through the house and dove onto the bed.

Grabbing the hysterical young man up into his lap, he shook him awake and crushed him into his embrace. "I'm so glad you're home, Tom," Harry dug his nails into his shoulders, holding on for dear life. "I had this dream you'd gotten upset and sent me to the hospital."

The common name sounded so lovely spoken from his lover's lips. "It's my fault. I should have come back for you immediately when we left the portal. I thought you'd be all right while I healed up and gathered my forces," Voldemort stroked his hair as he coughed and hiccupped against his shoulder. "Let me fix you, baby."

"No, I'm fine," Harry said between his uncontrollable sobbing. "It was just a nightmare."

"I'll kill him. He isn't worth keeping on any longer."

Harry was pathetic, useless… a waste of such precious life, turned to nothingness in the wrong hands. And yet, he loved him now more than ever. He would not ask him again.

"No. It's not his fault. I should've played along, done what they asked of me. I was so bloody stubborn."

Voldemort ran his fingers over the wand lying next to him. "And you still are," He adjusted himself on the bed, giving Harry a gentle nudge back against the mattress. He ran his thumb over the boy's lips, silencing his questioning look. He lifted his chin and kissed him chastely as he straddled his hips and pinned his hands under his knees. "I love you." he whispered, lifting his wand and pointing it down with a shaky hand.

* * *

Epilogue…

The soft, pinkish glow buzzes above him. The gentle caress of a lover's hand brushes over his skin. He curls his fingers around it, bringing it to his lips. "Mmm… How long have I been asleep?"

"Practically forever,"

Thick, black eyelashes flutter open. Dazzling green eyes adjust to the light. Harry kisses the hand and sits up in bed. Innocently, he stretches his arms in a yawn. "I feel so refreshed, like I've slept for ages." The dark prince is born, so beautiful and graceful in his soft movements.

Lord Voldemort drums his fingers on the mattress. "I think it's time you got up then. You wouldn't believe how much I've missed you," He pulls the boy into his lap and wraps his arms around him, no longer able to contain his want to spoil him. "I've got a surprise for you in the kitchen. Guess who's learned to cook?"

Harry's eyes light up so playfully. "You're joking! You promised me you'd never, ever try that again!" He wiggles around in his lap, meticulously taunting the man's long neglected cock into blissful torment. His head tips back, his cherry-stained tongue rests prettily against his teeth. "You're going to get a spanking if there's too much of a mess to clean up."

"Forget the kitchen…" Voldemort snarls like a beast and throws the boy on the bed. Kneeling over him, he rips open his shirt as Harry tugs down his trousers.

"Oh my, Minister Voldemort, I am impressed," remarks Harry, freeing his gorgeous erection. Eagerly, he pulls his lover to him and wraps his long legs around his hips, trapping the delicious phallus in the crook of his thigh. He grinds into it, his eyes narrowed, his breath urgent.

"I fired my second in command last night," Lord Voldemort's husky voice slowly whispers against his lips. The room dims black as night. The heat between them smoulders and ignites. "Unfortunately, I hadn't gotten around to taking his life before he slipped past security."

Languid fingers slide down along the Dark Lord's firm torso. "Don't worry, you'll get him," A sharp intake of breath slips past Harry's throat as Lord Voldemort forcefully claims him.

His voice now deadly low, he stops all movement on his will and takes the boy's face in his hands. "Are you ready to return to our world and take your place at my side?'

"Oh… my god…" Rushed cries, glistening flesh, a shiver of panic soars. Harry writhes, trembling beneath his lord. Clawing at his back, throwing his head against the mattress in primal splendour, he arches up on his elbows as his swollen lips part. "I thought you'd never ask."

The End

* * *


End file.
